


The Relic

by mareebird



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Anxiety, Asgard (Marvel), Brodinsons, Brothers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Loki & Thor Friendship (Marvel), Loki & Tony Stark Friendship, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Marvel Norse Lore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), POV Loki (Marvel), POV Thor (Marvel), PTSD, Pining, Protective Thor (Marvel), References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Survival Loki, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, oh the pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareebird/pseuds/mareebird
Summary: A deal to keep Loki from rotting in a cell has not gone as either brother hoped.  Thor and Loki bide their time on Earth, uncertain of their allegiance and future, as Loki's ennui threatens to be his undoing.  Thor's quest for a fabled Asgardian relic brings the brothers to Norway, where the artifact turns out to be far different than either expected, as does their time spent with a mysterious local archaeologist, who turns Loki's relationship with humanity on its ear.Post-MCU; AU Canon Divergence; Compliant up through Infinity War; Non-compliant with Endgame; Loki is alive in prime timeline------------------------A Loki character study, with plenty of Thor, exploring the complex Brodinson thing, as well as Loki's relationship to the planet he once tried to rule, humanity in general, and his damaged sense of self.  And layered on top, a Loki/OC slow burn.





	1. kaffepause

**Author's Note:**

> Notes as of 5/14/19: By now, you've probably seen Endgame. I began this fic in Fall 2018, knowing it would turn out to be very AU because the MCU was incomplete. This is currently compliant with everything up through Infinity War, but not with Endgame. You'll have to imagine that Thor and Loki are in a state of downtime and that Loki survived IW--or rather, was brought back to life. It's less complicated than it sounds, but this is absolutely AU even though it's compliant with 90% of the MCU.

 

 

 **Chapter 1 -** _**kaffepause** _

 

 

 

 

“Explain to me once more why you need me to tag along this time. This endeavor of yours, I mean. Perhaps you ought to give up.” 

Thor adjusted the knapsack he had thrown haphazardly across his shoulder, tightening the clasp at the bottom.  It had seen much wear in the past year and the straps had become prone to slipping through their metal buckles.  “Brother, I want you to come. Of course, I believe your talents will aid us in solving this mystery once and for all, but more than that… I think you may actually enjoy it."

A waver in Thor’s voice betrayed fear, the fear that Loki, with his understandable resentment for their status in New York, would still find doing nothing preferable to the suggestion that there was more to Midgard than this congested island city in the Atlantic. His brother had fallen into a dark mood like that of a caged animal, his eyes growing myopic to the world beyond the four walls of the apartment they had been given, which he seldom left these days. It was unlike him, but unsurprising; Loki was rarely like himself for too long a time.  And yet what else could Thor have expected?  The terms of _the_   _bargain_ had not played out as they expected.

But Thor was going to change all that.

Right now, Loki even appeared much like a penned cat - an infernal black one, of course - with his long limbs stretched across the sofa, nose wrinkled as he stared down the ceiling of the quarters Stark had given them.  It was only meant to be temporary, but no end-date had been set, and it became apparent, almost immediately, that far more eyes were on Loki than Thor’s alone.

“And if it does not exist--”

“I am certain that it does,” said Thor with a firmness he reserved for the moments when he was most determined. He watched his brother’s tense jaw loosen. It gave him hope.

But Loki was not quite ready to please his brother. “Even so, so what? It’s merely another Scandinavian temple that’s been left to rot. How are you not sick to death of it by now?”

“If I’m right, it is much more than a rotting building. My archaeologist friend and I are very close to discovering its location. If it contains a relic of Asgard, a true relic... Is that not worth a thorough search?  Brother?”

The tone of Thor’s voice had become plaintive, cracking as a swell of emotion caught even him off-guard.  It felt like homesickness.  Loki finally turned his attention toward his brother, with eyes that could only be described as unmasked. Thor thought he saw a hint of the boy he had grown up beside, the boy who had become a relic himself. There were times when Thor, too, felt like an artifact from a bygone era.

"And you've obtained _permission_ to take me on this field trip?"

Loki might as well have literally spat the words, the way they dripped bitterly.  Thor nodded, maintaining his calm, though even he began to fume when he thought for more than a few seconds about the chains which had been placed on his brother, invisible to the eye, but apparent in every other way.  The wizard they called Strange was behind that, though Thor had many doubts that he was capable of placing such a spell on Loki without his brother willingly giving himself over.  And when Thor thought about just why his brother had been willing, it came close to breaking his heart, the way it swelled within him.

Most of the damage had been wrought upon his vast network of inter-dimensional pathways, effectively turning Loki into a prisoner when he was allegedly free, if under watch.  Strange was a surgeon by profession and he had done his work with precision, but it had been heartless.  Thor was generally not impressed with Strange as a representative of Midgard.

But such had been the terms to keep Loki from wasting in a cell, or worse, for crimes Thor himself did not hold him accountable.  In a way, his own hands had been simultaneously tied, for how could he have done anything less?  He would do it all over again.

At the time, he had believed the intent of the bargain was merely to appease a few outlying government officials who did not believe Loki had been under the Titan's influence, or they did not care.  Loki would serve time, under Thor's watch, and everyone would be satisfied once they saw how willing was their cooperation.  But that had not proven true.  Loki's captivity had only been of another sort and it was wearing him down to the bone.

And so Thor had made another bargain.  He trusted Strange no more than he did before, but it was the first step toward proving that his brother could travel without a thousand eyes upon him.

“Come with me to Norway. But if you say no, I promise not to ask again.”

It was a lie, they both knew it. Thor had been asking for months and he would keep asking.  He was very bad at giving up.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hope balanced like coin on the edge of a knife, which was appropriate given his brother’s penchant for daggers. He was close enough to the door to begin his journey without Loki, if this latest attempt to lure him out of the darkness failed, though it would require more machinery and less magic. His knapsack was packed. Stark had a jet ever available.

Loki’s chest collapsed with a sigh and Thor released a long-held breath of his own.

“Oh, why not?"  His mouth curved into a sardonic smile.  "Since you asked so sweetly."

 

* * *

 

The season was barely autumn, but it was far colder on the archipelago than it would have been inland. Thor watched with amusement as Loki transformed his black suit into a black sweater. Yes, it was windy enough to catch a Jotun off-guard.  Thor had come prepared, dressed in thick denim over sweats.  His knapsack was equally bulky, though apparently not especially heavy, judging by the way it bounced off his shoulders as they strolled down a charming main strip.  Loki had not packed a bag.  He never seemed to need one.

Seine was a quintessential remote Norwegian fishing village, with a smattering of brightly painted homes and time-tested businesses. It was simple at heart and proud of the old way of life.  And in the ever-foggy distance were mountains, such mountains -- the flat-faced, stoic, guardians of the village.  They were more ancient than anything man-made, older than Norse mythology, older than Thor himself.

But Seine had not closed its door to a sizable tourism boom following the world-wide phenomenon of a children’s film about Scandinavian princesses, and in a few years there had cropped up as many boutiques, museums, and other attractions as there were buildings devoted to the fishing industry on which they had once relied for their daily bread.

Not to mention an influx of trendy coffee shops. It was near dusk, but Thor insisted that he wanted a cup as they came upon a cafe that was particularly unassuming. Loki insisted that he did not care for the drink, but he followed his brother inside. In reality, it was not a spontaneous decision. They had been planning to meet Thor’s archaeologist associate at this coffee shop from the start, but Loki had apparently been holding on to the hope that he might influence a change in the venue.  The place bore a sign in a serif font that said **_kaffepause_** , without any capital letters, and it was crammed between two larger and much nicer looking restaurants that Loki was vocal about finding preferable.

The interior of the minuscule cafe was modern, but too simple to call stylish.  The lighting was something, though -- astonishingly close to natural sunlight, despite the lack of windows. It was so honey-colored that Thor had once asked the owner how it was accomplished, to which she said something about refusing to use “those new bulbs that make everyone sick-looking” and that she had illegal lighting stockpiled in the back.  It was an anecdote that still delighted Thor, even upon entering for the umpteenth time.

“They use forbidden light bulbs here,” he whispered as they approached the counter. Loki reacted to the information by knitting his eyebrows, causing Thor to grin broadly.

“What does that even--”

He did not bother finishing the question, because in two steps they were already at the counter and sound carried swiftly in the tiny shop, even Loki's voice with its measured low tones.  Two patrons, who appeared to be on a date, looked up from their intimate conversation and glowered.

There was a woman on the other side of the counter, seated on a stool.  She was curled over a hardbound book with yellowing pages.  Her blonde head, blue eyes, and fair features were like so many in Scandinavia, but her smile was the first they encountered in the town. With short, fluffy hair a few centimeters from androgynous, and wrapped in a snug cobalt turtleneck, she made a striking impression based on appearance alone. Still, one would have been hard pressed to guess the woman's age within five years. She was that rare sort with a mature aura and an unlined face, but she lit up like an absolute schoolgirl as she recognized Thor.  Loki had fallen into step just behind his brother, where it seemed all too easy to disappear.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you until later this week,” she said in an accent that was not strictly Norwegian, as she hopped down from her perch. “Right?”

Thor heard his brother hum a ditty meant to imitate and mock the barista's bouncy greeting, and ignored it.  “I know,” he said, “But I was able to to convince my brother more quickly than expected. Cora, this is… Loki.”

Loki stepped to the side, away from Thor's shadow.

The woman's eyes, which were already of a round shape, widened further.  Loki thought he saw some of the color leave her face.  Momentarily frozen was the only way to describe how she looked at the sight of him, and the sinews of his own body tensed in response.  The stare went on for a moment longer than it ought.  Loki did not care for what he saw in the recesses of her gaze: judgment, fear, the human condition at its absolute worst.  Her previously striking appearance dissolved into something common.  Did not all humans look at him this way?  He cleared his throat and began to stare straight back, to give her a taste of what she was dosing, when she abruptly turned away and busied herself with rearranging a short stack of cups.  Loki's neck felt white hot.

Finally, the woman shook her head. “I'm not certain I know what I was expecting, but--”

Loki rolled his shoulders and cut in before she could finish.  “Do you make coffee or do you only supply scintillating observations?”

“Yes,” said Thor, who was not blind to his brother's sensitivities. “I would like some coffee. That sort were you pour the water over the individual cup. My brother will have…” He looked at Loki, who used his entire body to shrug. “My brother will have the same.”

Cora started to brew. Thor ushered Loki to a small table with two chairs, pulling up a third before sitting down. “My friend will join us soon. It depends on when work is done for the day.”

“Yes, your Dr. Eriksen,” said Loki. “This place closes in half-an-hour. Where do we go once she arrives?”

Thor's expression took on a puzzled quirk.  “That depends on where it seems best to go. We may end up staying here. Dr. Eriksen won't mind. She has been very helpful since we came in contact. She is an expert on Norse history.”

“I imagine her to be an expert on having long dark hair and perfect breasts, as well,” smirked Loki. He kept his voice low, as sound did travel, and they weren’t far from the cafe worker. Cora may have lit up at the sight of Thor, but Loki knew the type of women his brother preferred, and she did not fit the mold.  Nevertheless, Thor stole an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the woman making their drinks.

“She’s blonde, actually,” he corrected in a tone that was even more hushed, prompting his brother to do the same.

“Everyone here looks related.”

“Because it helped us survive,” came the voice of Cora from behind a puff of steam. The brothers had not been whispering as well as they believed. “Lighter pigmentation makes it easier to absorb vitamin D. That becomes important when you only have one hour of sunlight in the middle of winter, during the polar night.”

Loki lifted his brows. “If you don’t mind, we were talking among ourselves. In fact, we’re waiting for my brother’s very important science friend, who is going to thoroughly educate us about our own culture. She is an expert.”

Thor hissed for his brother to shut up.

Cora grinned to herself, a smile which quickly became a snicker as she poured the last of the hot water over the coffee grounds. “Yes, and I have heard she has legendary breasts.”

Thor felt his blood flush hot across his shoulders, up his neck, and curl all the way around his ears. A tense moment passed and, suddenly, Loki burst out in laughter.  It was a short, ringing sound, which caught everyone off guard, even seemingly himself, and he slapped the table to steady his body.  The sound of it scattered Thor’s embarrassment like sand.  It was so rare to hear his brother make such a sound since their return to Midgard. Slowly, it filled him with an entirely different warming sensation, as he watched Loki bite his tongue to control himself.

Cora picked up the two steaming mugs and brought them to where the brothers had seated themselves. Simultaneously, the other patrons, who wanted to be obvious about how disgruntled they were by Loki’s outburst, finished their drinks and made their exit. “Mange takk!” she shouted after them, and muttered something in Norsk that sounded much less friendly once they were gone.  She made herself busy with cleaning the table and finished by flipping over the chairs.

The shop was set to close in twenty minutes.

Thor took a large pull on his mug while Loki took no more than his reflection in his own. He cleared his throat.  “You told Dr. Eriksen we were coming today, right? I’m just making sure, since you failed to inform your barista.”

Thor’s lips narrowed. He hummed a low note. “Yes, she knows we are here. She’ll be with us as soon as she’s done.”

“Good. Because I am working on a pop quiz for her.”

Thor shook his head and rolled his eyes, simultaneously exchanging a look with Cora. She gave him a wink, which Loki lifted his head just in time to catch. Walking away from the table, she went to the door and lifted her fingers to the lock. _Click._

Loki sat up very straight. Thor watched Loki and Loki watched Cora, who returned to the service counter and went through the mundane task of pulling out a clean mug and filling it with boiling water. It was nothing exciting, but the tension continued to mount, even as she wordlessly finished by submerging a fresh bag of tea.

The woman approached the table and took the third seat.

She held out her hand to Loki with a smile as sly as anything Thor had ever seen on his brother’s face. “Hello. I’m Dr. Cora Eriksen. Your brother and I have been working together for some time, searching for this mysterious Asgardian temple he believes exists. I’m happy you’ve decided to join us, but I am a little nervous about passing your quiz.”

Now it was Thor’s turn to slap the table and laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Loki, I thrive on verbal affirmation. If you enjoyed this, I hope you'll comment, bookmark, etc. It lets me know that people are interested. I love comments most of all. I love talking with people, especially about Loki & Thor, and making new friends! Look me up on Tumblr, too. [@mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/)


	2. Kodebryter

**Chaper 2: Kodebryter**

 

“You _tricked_ me,” said Loki, grinning at Thor through clenched teeth.  His cheeks grew warm as he sat astonished and quite genuinely entertained, steepling his fingers over the cafe table.  A well-exacted prank, even one played at his own expense, was something to be admired, especially at the hands of his infinitely altruistic brother. Thor was most worthy of his attention at those times when he surprised him, which to be honest were growing more and more frequent.  And it was the first real bit of amusement he had experienced in a long time.  
  
“It wasn’t intentional, Brother, but it was satisfying."  
  
Loki’s eyes moved to Cora, now revealed as the Dr. Eriksen they had been expecting.  Still smirking from the jest, she coolly removed the tea bag from her mug, gave it a firm squeeze, and placed it off to the side.  Her motions were fluid, precise and elementally violent, and the sight of the shriveled bag on the table prompted Loki to shift his weight, even if only subconsciously, crossing one leg over the other.  A mere minute ago, he had categorized her as a chatty shopkeeper, verging on an annoyance, but there were few things so pleasing as to encounter a being who was at least a bit more than what she seemed.  Even a human.  
  
“Then you did recognize me?” he said.  
  
She swallowed and nodded.  "Yes, I know who you are.  I’ve known your brother for months, so I’ve done my research.”  She had an accent that betrayed much time spent in the United Kingdom.  Loki had learned a handful of useful things about Midgard.  Keeping his geography up to date was important.  
  
Dr. Eriksen paused long enough to sip her tea.  Loki noted how her upper lip was cut with the curves of an archer’s bow, and that it suited her.  To be honest, all of her features came together in the form of something objectively, but still uncommonly attractive. She was decidedly Norse, with a round, open face, in which were set round, open eyes. But to call her doll-like would have missed the mark completely. Her expressions were broad, rather fun to watch, far from delicately painted.  But it was a face that easily gave away her mind, something which Loki already noticed she seemed in battle against. The muscles of her jaw tightened as she spoke and her eyes stole glances to the side.  “He tells me I shouldn’t believe everything I’ve read.”  
  
“No, you should believe it,” said Thor with a hint of a chuckle which Loki did not really appreciate.  “But there are a lot of stories that never could make their way as far as Midgard.”  
  
“Good stories?” asked Dr. Eriksen.  
  
Thor winced.  “...Ehh, some of them.”  
  
Loki dragged his index finger along the cafe table and gave it a loud tapping.  He had other questions and wanted to be serious. “But why the coffee shop?”  
  
Dr. Eriksen slowly pulled a long breath through her nose.  “I bought the shop about two years ago. I had worked at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology for forever, but I needed to get out of Trondheim.  Sometimes everything has to change, you know? Coffee is only temporary. I have plans. I’d like to open a small museum one day, here in Seine.”  
  
She finished her short story with a smile that touched only one corner of her mouth.  Loki felt a twitch upon his own, mirroring her. A _“Hm”_  came from deep within his chest.  He looked sideways at Thor, whose face had become somber. The tension felt disproportionate to her matter-of-fact demeanor.  
  
“Don’t feel sad,” she said.  “This is a better place for me.  I’m happier here.”  
  
Loki was not certain he would call what he felt _sad_ , but he remained invested.  “And how did you meet my brother?”  
  
“Just like this,” she said.  “He came in for coffee. His knapsack was full of maps.  We started talking about what he was doing. At first, I didn’t believe he was who he said he was, but--”  
  
“You did your research,” Loki interjected.  “But tell me, because I’m curious, what did your research tell you?  Norse mythology and Asgard's history are intertwined, but in my experience, they are often--”  
  
“I mean that I read about what happened in New York,” said Dr. Eriksen.  She looked at him with all the seriousness of a mother prepared to scold a child, and with the same desire that she would rather not have to say anything at all.  Loki balled one of his fists beneath the table.  It came into sharp focus that Thor vouching for him, whatever he had said, had only earned him so much grace. The rest of the work was apparently his to do, if felt so inclined.  
  
Loki was unimpressed.  And more than a little put off to realize that Dr. Eriksen was a woman who liked to form opinions over half a story.  But was that not typical in her field of work, to dig up abandoned pieces of history and force the imaginations upon the missing details?  His mood sank like lead. “You read what they knew would sell,” he said with tremendous control. His eyes moved deftly from her face to the hand holding her mug, where her knuckles had gone tight and white.  
  
She must have realized he was taking notes, and she moved her hand to her lap.  Loki maintained his accusing gaze.

He had become aware of a burning deep within the folds on his brain.  Something, he knew not what, remained amiss, like a ghost in the room. It was in the quality of the woman's demeanor, her movements tense and controlled. Practiced, perhaps. It was the skill of someone who had something to hide.  And he knew fear, or better, he knew what it looked like to bottle it up, and the little ticks that gave it away. She was good, but he had the advantage of experience, and far too much of it.  
  
At last, Thor reasserted his position in the room.  “Cora, I would not have encouraged him to come if he had not paid his due and proven his worth.  I trust my brother.”  
  
For Loki, it was a bit too sentimental.  “Thank you, Thor,” he said through pursed lips.  
  
“...In this endeavor,” he finished stridently.  “But the undertaking is nothing small. Cora and I have examined nearly all of the Stave churches in the area.  We’ve ruled out a number of them and now our work becomes more meticulous.”  
  
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat.  She seemed more apt to relax now that Loki required some education.  “They are medieval structures, but it was often the practice for Christians to build over the sites of pagan temples after sanctifying the ground."  
  
“Funny how what you call pagan, we call reality,” said a very dry Loki.  
  
“Nevertheless,” continued Dr. Eriksen, “Many of the temples weren’t completely destroyed.  And your brother’s theory”--she gestured graciously to Thor--”Is that some must have been protected by magic, unable to be dismantled by force.  Well, what he asserts _we_  call magic.”  
  
Loki leaned back his chair and looked out from the edges of his peripheral vision as Thor finished his coffee.  Their trip to Norway had been swift, no time for long chats, but until now Loki believed he knew more than enough about what his brother had undertaken, flying to-and-fro, pouring himself over maps.  All of it had failed to interest him. But now...  
  
“Personally, I’ve always been fond of calling it magic,” he said.  The pause that followed was tense and dramatic. He might have shown off, turned someone into a snail, but for once the idea did not occur to him.  “So, I am to be your sorcerer-codebreaker?”  
  
Thor leapt on the hint that his brother might be in an agreeable mood after all, knowing full well how fragile those moments were.  “I meant it when I said I wanted you to come so that we could do this together. We are the last of Asgard's royal line. If our forefathers left anything in these temples, would you not want to have it in our own possession?  It was a bit of fun to trick you into thinking Cora wasn’t Dr. Eriksen, but that is where the deception ends."

“No need to apologize, Brother,” said Loki.  An impish grin had overtaken his features. “I like breaking things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this, drop me a line! I love making new friends! I am having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you like reading, as well.


	3. Brødrene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a hint of measured warning in his tone, for there was more to be said on the matter of Loki’s sleep habits as of late: the staying up, the sleeping in, the fairly constant desire to just stay asleep once his head finally hit the pillow. Loki made no comment, but he nodded in acquiescence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains a brief description of an anxiety attack.

 

**Chapter 3: Brødrene**

 

It was two hours to midnight when the new-formed party of explorers departed the coffee shop.  Dr. Eriksen went to her home, which Loki inferred was within walking distance as she vanished into the night before reaching any sort of vehicle, while Thor directed his brother - also on foot - to the place where they would be staying.  It turned out to be a quaint home with a rear-entry apartment that Thor had been indefinitely renting.  It was a space intended for a single occupant, with one bedroom and one bath, but the furnishings were colorful, occasionally playful, and surprisingly to Loki’s liking. The paint on the timber walls looked as if it had been selected to match the flinty blue of the night sky, and in the still and dark, all of it was something like a cozy womb.  Thor would never have selected such a place for himself, unless it was the pragmatic best option, which Loki surmised was determined for the convenience of its proximity to the coffee shop and its private entry.  
  
Loki dropped himself at the center of a plush sofa, expanding his wide wingspan to either side.  “Nicely done,” he said to Thor, who was taking the time to hang his denim jacket by the door and stow his knapsack.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you thought of me when you chose this place.”  
  
Across his shoulder, Thor gave his brother a smile.  Loki lifted an eyebrow. He wondered if such was the case after all, but he did not ask, and Thor went back to doing what he had been doing.  
  
The living area and eat-in kitchen split the same open space down the middle.  Loki’s eyes fell on what he recognized to be a refrigeration unit, though it was designed to appear like part of the wall.  At the coffee shop, they had constructed a dinner of overstocked pastries, which while they were satisfying at the time, had not a true meal made.  He rose from the sofa and crossed the room in a few long strides.  
  
“I wouldn’t eat anything in there,” said Thor.  “I haven’t restocked it since--”  
  
Loki opened the door to reveal that the refrigerator was indeed nearly bare.  He extended his arms inside, hands disappearing for a moment, and stepping back he removed a physical plate piled high with slices of fresh roasted turkey.  
  
“Never mind,” said Thor.  
  
Waving his hands, Loki brought forth a loaf of crusty white bread.  To produce physical objects, edible ones, demanded much more of his seiðr than an illusion, and it left Loki even hungrier than when he started. He placed the turkey and bread on the island to the countertop and began his construction. Thor watched with an expression that went from amused to quizzical.  “You conjure the ingredients, but you actually _make_ the sandwiches by _hand_?”  
  
“Call me old-fashioned,” chirped Loki with a pert smile.  
  
Thor reached in and began to fashion a late-night snack for himself.  A few moments passed between the brothers with only the sounds of their hands at work.  “You know you are, in a way,” said Thor.  
  
Loki chuckled.

Without word, they privately recounted childhood memories of similar times, before they were old enough to attend banquets at court, their midnight adventures to the great dining hall.  The guests had retired, but the table was always heavy laden with excess of food, and they constructed meals out of what they found.  It was less about feeding themselves and more about the conquest, and the camaraderie, which had come so easily to them as boys.  It was becoming easier now.    
  
They moved to a pine table in the corner where there was a bowl of grapes ready and waiting, chilled to the point of nearly frozen, just the way Loki liked them, and they were a perfect complement to the turkey.  The brothers focused their energy on feeding themselves, realizing while they ate that they were much hungrier than they had thought. Second helpings were had. Loki had not stuffed his face so thoroughly with food in a long time, nor had he felt so - what was this sensation he could vaguely recall -  _relaxed?_  
  
Pushing his plate to the side was a little like coming up for air.  He sighed loudly and rested his hands on his full stomach. From his periphery, he thought he caught Thor staring at him, smiling, something to that effect, but rather than calling him out, he contentedly smiled himself.  There was no sense in pretending there wasn’t something pleasant about sharing this infinitely improved living space, sharing a meal, though he would not admit that _Thor had told him so._  
  
He turned his attention to a nearby window.  The view was clear. There was the water in the distance and lights on the water.  He could hear the staccato chatter of men as they coiled rope on the dock. The town was sleepy, but there seemed many preparations to be made before turning in for the night.  
  
None of it, on paper, was Loki’s kind of setting.  It was too small. He would run out of things to do in no time.  But compared with New York, which had become a prison under the watchful eyes of what seemed to be everyone and their sister, it was at least starkly different.  He wondered if what relaxed him so was the dawning truth that he was tasting a certain kind of freedom; a flavor he had forgotten, more delicious than the simple feast the famished brothers had just enjoyed.  
  
Thor groaned.  “I think I may actually be exhausted.”  
  
Loki shifted his attention back to the interior of the room.  “I’m not quite ready. Are you going to take the bed? There’s only the one.  I can split it into two.”  
  
Thor rose from his chair and stretched noisely.  “I was going to give you the bed and take the sofa,” he said.  “But your idea is better.”  
  
“No trouble at all,” replied Loki.  His words were immediately followed by the sound of wooden furniture scraping against the floorboards in the bedroom.  He casually reached for a grape and popped it into his mouth, in spite of there being no room left inside him.  
  
Thor pressed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, in part to steady his weary body as he made his way around the table.  “Goodnight,” he said. “We’re up at five, out by five-thirty. Don’t stay up till all hours.”  
  
There was a measured hint of warning in his tone, for there was more to be said on the matter of Loki’s sleep habits as of late: the staying up, the sleeping in, the fairly constant desire to just stay asleep once his head finally hit the pillow.  Loki made no comment, but he nodded in acquiescence.  
  
Thor disappeared into the bedroom and it wasn’t long before the noises behind the door went silent.

 

* * *

 

It was eleven-thirty, though timepieces in Norway apparently ran on a different system than those in New York, but _twenty-three-thirty_ rolled off the tongue the same way babies rolled down the stairs.  Loki had gotten used to more American quirks than he realized.  
  
Aside from water lapping at the nearby docks, the sounds outside the apartment had faded to naught, and the rooms themselves were silent as the grave.  He had made his rounds through the living area and kitchen, looking through drawers and cabinets for the sake of exploring, or snooping, as the case may be.  He found no secrets, but he did find a half-eaten box of chocolates, which he surmised to have been a forgotten housewarming gift when the apartment was let, so there was that.  He ate a few.  And then a few more.  Chocolate was a weakness.  
  
Loki entered a darkened room set close to where Thor was sleeping.  Flipping the switch revealed a bathroom with a clawfoot tub, along with other bathroom fixtures.

"Oooh.  Hello, lovely."

It was an antique; beautifully refinished, with untarnished silvery hardware, proof that Thor had been favoring the common-looking shower in the corner.  Such a waste.

It seemed like the proper end to the evening, so Loki turned on the tap and procured for himself a towel and soap and a few other bathtime luxuries.  He closed the door and, after removing what was necessary to enjoy a bath, slipped himself into the warm water.    
  
At last, true solitude.  Loki dipped his head beneath the water and came up wiping his eyes.  Magic could not offer something better than this; it was the simplest of pleasures.  He leaned back, his fingers curving around the lip of the tub like a pair of armrests, and gave up the last of the tension his body retained.  Even looking down at the nasty scar on his chest, one left by a brutal Dark Elf, did not cause its typical chill, and for once he chose not to conceal it with a spell.  He could let his skin breathe, just as he was at last breathing.

Loki took a washcloth and began scrubbing his nails.

He recounted the day, which had begun so differently than it was now ending.  Loki was certain he would never miss New York.  This was not the first time he had set foot in Norway, though the last amounted to no more than a few minutes.  It had only been a means to an end, that end being to retrieve his failing father, an endeavor which also concluded quite differently than expected at the outset.  And all of that had been before…

 _Hel._   Could he not have a moment of true peace?

As always, it started with a breath catching abruptly on a hitch, like tripping in the dark, and then his head began to feel somewhat detached from his body.  The first few times it happened, the sensation had been terrifying, as if his body and reality were parting ways, his obliteration imminent.  But he had survived, each time the sensations passing as if they were part of some feverish dream.  Unexpectedly, it was Stark who offered wisdom then, and, even more surprisingly, his compassion.  Thor had been the intermediary then, but his brother did not know the attacks still gripped him from time to time

Loki understood now that the threat existed only in his memory, but that did not remembering any less unpleasant.  With slow, measured movements, Loki hanged the washcloth over the back of his neck and let the heat bleed into his tensed muscles.  He closed his eyes.  He wanted to squeeze them shut and brace himself, but he had quickly learned that fighting back only seemed to bring more misery.  The only course was to wait it out; eventually, the flashback would pass.

It made little sense to Loki that he still reacted with such swiftness when he thought of that day, of the Titan Thanos.  He was alive, Thor was alive, and that should have been the end of it, but like a ghost it haunted him.  Days could pass without his thinking of it, but inevitably some similarity would trigger the memory, a trick of light or the smell of fire or the sound of something breaking.  He took measured breaths.  It would help to think of something else, anything else.  

Who was Dr. Cora Eriksen?  Who was she _really_?  
  
Loki’s mind came to a halt.  His brow knit a scowl as he considered the question which had so randomly popped into his mind - and yet his thoughts were seldom random.  The question probably meant something, but _wha_ t?  She had explained who she was.  Why had she come to mind at all?  
  
Loki wondered if he had paused to think of Dr. Eriksen because she was an attractive woman and, if that was the case, then fair enough.  But pretty and disarming were not the same thing.  By Thor's account, she seemed to appear, like magic, at just the right moment. And Loki, who had refined the art of appearances and disappearances, was not a fan of coincidence.  
  
Despite the nagging feeling, Loki could admit to enjoying their repartee.  To a degree, at least.  She genuinely did not appear to like him; at times she seemed just shy of finding the words to tell him so plainly.  And had not Thor caused her to light up like Midgardian Yuletide?  His gaze only seemed to dim the light in her bright eyes.

Loki abruptly realized that he he had begun to stare at the wall, long enough that his vision was blurred.  He blinked to clear it.  Simultaneously, a sound at the door made clear what had broken through his wandering thoughts; his brother barged in unceremoniously.  
  
“Thor!  Hey!  I’m--!”

The scar on Loki's chest vanished in an instant.

“If it wasn’t necessary, I would have waited,” said Thor, before walking behind his brother to take care of what was oh so necessary.  
  
The surprise faded to the point where Loki wondered if he ought to have expected his brother to burst in for the toilet.  He rolled his eyes and started to make quick work of the rest of his bath.  
  
“Thor… how well do you know this doctor-friend of yours?”  
  
“Very well, I should think,” he replied.

"Hm. Are you sleeping together?" asked Loki, not casually.  The question was direct; it would help him understand much of what was going on.

Thor sounded as if his aim was thrown and his stream skittered across the water in the bowl.  It amused Loki.  But his brother protested the suggestion.  "No, not at all.  It's strictly a friendship.  What's the word the humans use?  Platonic."

"Can you blame me for asking?"

"I suppose not."

“And was it really just as you said?  You wandered in, randomly. She took an interest in your maps.  She just _happened_ to have a former life as an archaeologist?”  
  
Thor buttoned up.  “Yes, Loki, it was just like that.  There’s a saying I heard that I believe applies.  It’s that the truth can be stranger than fiction.”  
  
Loki reached for the plug.  Sounds of water noisily circling the drain followed.  “I think there’s more to the story.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because there’s always more to the story.”  There was a bite to his tone.  He rose from the now-shallow water, reached for his towel, and wrapped it around his waist.  
  
Thor turned to the sink and began to wash his hands.  His eyes took on a thoughtful glaze, one that gave Loki pause as he caught sight of it in the mirror.  "What?"

“Is that all that makes you curious, brother?”

“I like to know the people I’m expected to trust,” Loki said, matter-of-fact.  
  
“Don’t we all,” replied Thor, just as matter-of-fact, three simple words that were far more than the sum of their parts.  Loki clenched his jaw, waiting for the other foot to drop, but his brother said nothing more about it. It was the closest thing to unkindness Thor had shown him in a long time, but Loki was willing to concede that he was being hypocritical, and perhaps that had been the point of it all.  The subject was dropped.  
  
“How much longer are you going to stay up?” asked Thor.  
  
“I’m done,” he replied.  “Ready for bed.”  
  
“It’s after midnight.”  
  
“I said I’m finished.”  His intention was to reassure his brother, but there was annoyance as well.  Thor Odinson, Mother Hen. It was too much, really.  
  
Loki discarded the towel, though it didn’t so much vanish as become a set of silk pajamas.  He dressed as Thor sidled his way out of the room, and shifted into the space his brother had occupied by the sink.  He waved a hand and called forth his toothbrush and brushed his teeth.  There was a large mirror, but Loki avoided his reflection out of habit.  The past decade had not been gentle with him and it was showing around the edges.  He had always been a bit vain, or very vain, depending on who you asked, but aging did not bother him in and of itself.  Aging was inevitable.  Even Thor bore more than a few smile lines these days.

But Thor was much older.  He was supposed to look older than Loki, but he did not.  It was as if Loki was aging at a different speed and he could not help but wonder if it had something to do with the reality that he was not Aesir, that underneath, he was Jotun.  Was it possible that, with Odin gone, the spell was slowly wearing thin?  Loki doubted it, but he also did not like to think about it, and he found himself taking in his visage less and less.

He was finally feeling sleepy. He turned off the light and entered the bedroom, where Thor was occupying the bed to the left.  Loki took the open one of the right.  It had been centuries since they shared a room.

The room was blessedly cool after the heat of the bathwater.  Loki stretched out on top of his quilt, rather than under it, and his damp hair soaked into the fabric.  
  
“Goodnight, Brother,” said Thor.  A yawn followed. Sleep was ready to reclaim him.  
  
But Loki’s mind continued to work.  “What did you tell her about me?”  
  
“...Cora?”  Thor said her name as if he might have honestly forgotten who they had been discussing, and his voice was tinged with a yawn.  
  
“She knew I was coming, but she seemed…”  He hesitated to finish, not that he was unsure what to say.  Loki just wanted to hear his brother’s offering first.  
  
“You know how the people of Earth feel about you.”  
  
Or perhaps not.  
  
Thor continued.  “I believe she will warm up to your presence.  Our family is her field of study, and she has been a good friend to me.”  
  
None of it was particularly what Loki wanted to hear.  “Then I look forward to her tolerating me for your sake.”  
  
“Don’t be like that.”  
  
“Why not?  It’s fine.”  It was what he was used to, but he spared Thor the lament.  It would solve nothing. But he had hoped - why had he bothered? - his brother's archaeologist friend might have eyes that looked deeper than…  No, in the end, each member of mankind was of the same mold as the last, quick to judge what they did not know and even faster to fear it.  
  
Slowly, Loki’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he stared at the ceiling, and then his lids at last fell.  
  
“Loki…” came his brother’s voice, half-dreamlike.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You wouldn't be asking after her because--”  
  
Loki's eyes opened once again.  “If you ask me one more time then you really have become the most ridiculous--”  
  
Thor chuckled.  “I was only joking. Sleep well, brother.”


	4. Kirken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not the first time he had seen one, of course, but it had been a long time. He had been a child. He retained a vague memory of losing a beloved childhood toy and being scolded by his mother for wanding through the staves when should have been elsewhere. Even then, they had struck him into a state of dizzying admiration, but now that he was grown, the feeling was closer to being enchanted, if not seduced by beauty. It was strange, as well, for it no manner did the church resemble anything of Asgard, but his heart began to ache for home it a way that made him grateful that he was already sitting down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty big. I went back over it and punched up some things in light of how the story is taking shape down the line. A lot of hard but pleasant work. Pretty happy with it.

 

**Chapter 4: Kirken**

 

It seemed, to Loki, that he had only been sleeping for a matter of minutes when the alarm Thor set began barking orders, and at best, it had still only been five hours.  He lifted his head, expecting the same impenetrable fog and sense of foreboding that had become such a familiar bedfellow, but he was surprised to find that he rose with ease, with a clear head and lungs eager to enjoy the cool Nordic air.  In fact, of the two of them, it was Thor who seemed ill-suited to start the day. Loki placed his bare feet on the floor, while his brother covered his face with his pillow to stifle a scream.  
  
“You stayed up too late,” said Loki, echoing Thor’s concerns from the night before.  He turned his body toward the kitchen, eager for breakfast, a desire sig which had also been absent for some time.  
  
Thor dropped the pillow off the side of the bed.  Loki had already dressed himself, conjuring an outfit similar to something he’d noted in a magazine lining a drawer in the apartment, comprised of forest greens, suede, sleek lines, and poorly suited to a day of spelunking in ancient churches, but as usual he was determined to be the most fashionable one in the club.  Thor raised an eyebrow high enough to be noticed from the next room.  
  
“What?” huffed Loki, eyes half-rolled.  
  
“No, you look… good?  Norsk.”  He shot a finger-gun.  
  
Loki rolled his eyes the rest of the way.  “Yes, well, I look forward to one day meeting the poor homeless man who donates to you the clothing he finds unsuitable.”  
  
Thor sat up and scrubbed at his face and slowly came to life.  “It’s called... hipster...”

"Oh yes.  Thor Odinson.  Hipster King of Asgard..." 

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was not to rise for a few hours, but the sky had given way to a color that was more royal, less ink.  It was also chilly, much more so than the previous evening. Thor stomped his feet and breathed warmth into his palms.  Loki had always fared much better when the temperatures dropped, for reasons made clear by a Jotun’s icy grasp so many years ago, when his world had changed in an instant, but thoughts on that were far from him. Rather, tberr was genuine anticipation aflight in his belly, the promise an experience wholly new. That it would begin with breaking and entering a church was no small part of the fun.  
  
Loki did not, however, enjoy suffering great blasts of wind, and it was frustrating to have to change his angle every few seconds to keep his hair out of his eyes.  Thor, with his slowly-growing locks did not have such problems, though least he no longer resembled a fuzzy peach. Still, Loki did not envy him.  
  
By five-forty-five, Dr. Eriksen was officially late, and Loki was on the verge of becoming annoyed by it when a compact electric car turned the corner, ultimately rolling to a stop at his feet.  Thor climbed into the back, leaving the option of either joining him or taking the passenger seat. Loki hesitated, scratching at his palm. There would be little room for his legs beside Thor in the tiny vehicle, but the front...  With a shrug, he ruled in favor of physical comfort and seated himself beside Dr. Eriksen, who was wearing a traditional Nordic patterned blue and white sweater-dress and decidedly nontraditional chunky black boots.  
  
“I thought you Scandinavians were known for your punctuality,” said Loki.  
  
“If we’re going to start the day off with stereotypes, you’re thinking of Germans,” said Dr. Eriksen.  She applied pressure to the gas-pedal and the car lurched forward.  
  
“Duly noted,” said Loki, bracing himself by clutching the door handle.  How he despised these damn contraptions.  The ride smoothed over soon enough and he turned his attention out the window, folding his hands neatly in his lap.  He had assumed the woman did not own a car, but here he was, sitting in one. They were archaic machines, even from a front seat vantage.  And the vehicle reeked with the burnt odor of the cafe.  
  
Thor had ended up stretching himself lengthwise across the entire back row.  “You’re not usually late,” he said.  
  
“Overslept,” she replied.  “But I brought coffee. The industrial grade.”  
  
She retrieved a paper cup and passed it over her shoulder.  The car was so small that she could not make the motion without scraping the folds of Loki’s fairly prominent ears.  His head swiveled back, protestation ready to spring from his tongue, but he was thrown off as her hand struck his nose coming the opposite way.  
  
“Sorry about that.”  
  
Loki made a show of assuring himself that he was still intact.  At least he had been treated to a whiff of a perfume as her hand passed the second time.  As Midgardian fragrance went, it smelled like the expensive, old-fashioned kind, and it was a welcome respite from the stench of coffee.  The lines in Loki’s brow softened. A little. The fact remained that she had not bothered to meet his eye when making her apology.  
  
“Only one cup?” he asked.  It was less of a question, more of a comment.  
  
Dr. Eriksen chewed her lip.  “Oh. You didn’t drink any yesterday.  I thought you hated it.”  
  
Loki lifted his brows.  “You gave up on me _that_ quickly?  Goodness, I think that might be a record.  Thor?” He twisted around to appeal to his brother in mocking fashion.  
  
“He does hate it,” said Thor.  
  
Loki’s lips thinned to a line.  His brother was no fun before coffee, apparently, like the trope those American sitcoms beat to death: bleary-eyed, ill-tempered people, growling at one another for not preparing their _blessed_ coffee.  
  
“Can’t you make coffee just appear, if you want it so badly?” asked Dr. Eriksen, swirling the air with her index finger.  
  
Loki screwed his face at the motion her hand made, looking like someone had popped a lemon wedge into his mouth, as if the gesture was vaguely lewd.  “I _could_.  But I’d rather not have the taste of burnt tar in my mouth all morning.”  
  
They rolled over a few bumps in the road. There was a beat, and then Thor began to giggle.  “...That’s what she said.”  
  
Another beat, and Dr. Eriksen burst out with a guffaw.  
  
Loki turned back to the window, biting hard on his tongue so that they would not catch him laughing, too, before being betrayed by a snort.

 

* * *

  
  
They crossed a bridge to another island on the archipelago where a nearly identical fishing village had taken root, but at half the size of Siene.  They drove away from the buildings and into the hills. The entire trip took roughly an hour, with the sun still lingering beneath the horizon when they arrived.  But even in darkness, there was no missing the enormous stave church that cropped up in their midst among the grazing fields that dotted the rural landscape.  
  
Loki would admit that it was a breathtaking sight, vastly different from the squat city chapels of Siene.  (Not that he had entered any of them--perhaps they were nicer on the inside.) This stave, the stave of Torgunn, skirted the edges of being ostentatious in its majesty, with sky-scraping tiers of pitched roofs, stained black, like a chocolate wedding cake, with florets of wooden dragons that curved around perfectly layered wooden shingles.  It was not the first time he had seen one, of course, but it had been a long time. He had been a child.  He retained a vague memory of losing a beloved childhood toy and being scolded by his mother for wanding through the staves when should have been elsewhere.  Even then, they had struck him into a state of dizzying admiration, but now that he was grown, the feeling was closer to being enchanted, if not seduced by beauty. It was strange, as well, for in no manner did the church resemble anything of Asgard, but his heart began to ache for home in a way that made him grateful that he was already sitting down.  
  
The humans were lesser beings, this was fact, but their capacity for art was enough to make one forget.  It was almost understandable why so many Aesir people, even his own brother, had fallen hopelessly in love with them at one time or another.  Loki had on occasion suspected his father -- suspected _Odin_ \-- of having his personal reasons for keeping Midgard close to his heart, but sentiment was a dangerous thing and attachments were worse.  The stave had stood for centuries, but no one who built it was still breathing.  
  
They parked.  Loki tilted his head to peer at the haunting, but beautiful sight through the frame of the windshield.  Thor noisily scooted himself out of the car and started stretching, but Dr. Eriksen stayed for a moment, taking in the view beside him.  
  
“See,” she said, “Not _everything_ in Norway is blonde.”  
  
Loki turned to her with a quizzical expression.  It melted away as he recalled his comment from the night before.  “Appears I spoke out of turn.”  
  
By necessity in the tight space of the car, they would have to be nose-to-nose if they attempted to face one another, which they had not for the length of the ride.  Of course, her eyes had been on the road, but more than that, aside from her intense stare upon their introduction, Dr. Eriksen had made a palpable effort to avoid any sort of real eye contact.  Now, for a fraction of a second, by accident, they looked at one another directly. And just a before, when Loki returned her gaze, she suddenly blanched and turned away.  
  
“Yes… maybe…”  Dr. Eriksen murmured like someone who had half-forgotten the topic of her conversation.  “I mean… Yes. You did.” And then she forced a laugh so rehearsed that Loki literally shook his head in disgust.  
  
Her cheeks changed from white to red as she failed to easily unlatch her seatbelt.  The actual expression on her face, however, was set like flint, maintained with tight control, because she did not want him to realize that she was even remotely frightened.  But she had already slipped. Loki cast his gaze out the window toward Thor, who was preoccupied with getting the blood back into his limbs after folding himself into the antique vehicle.  
  
_Is my brother too far for your comfort?  Your frail human body in mortal peril?_  
  
Without a word, Loki reached across to Dr. Eriksen’s seatbelt mechanism and pressed the button with enough force to free her.  
  
“Oh.  Takker.” she chirped, slipping into Norsk as she got out of the car, leaving Loki to stew, his blood hot enough to sear every cell of his body.  _By the Norns_ , he had done _nothing_  to this woman. She was no resident of New York. She had lost no one!  
  
His breath caught a hitch and he held it there, stealing a moment to close his eyes.  If it was guilt and remorse she was waiting for him to express, then Dr. Eriksen did not have the lifespan for it.  Loki could not fathom how a being could understand so little and yet consider herself so well-informed. Human brains must have been little more than a slapdash bundle of wires, an unfinished design, perhaps.  It was easy to conceive that their mold was meant to be practice for greater things, only someone forgot to shut down the project before they overpopulated their planet, and by that point their creator had just felt _sorry_ for them.  
  
Loki’s heavy eyelids lifted and he released the air from his lungs.  Safely outside, Dr. Eriksen’s smile had resurfaced. Thor appeared to be telling jokes against the dark backdrop of the stave.  He caught his brother’s eye. _What are you doing in there?_ he seemed to ask.

Loki was being too obvious.  He frowned at himself.  He opened the door and stepped outside, where they had parked close to an ancient graveyard, marked with stumpy rocks he had not been able to see from the car window.  
  
It was not as though his brother’s hands were clean.  Perhaps Dr. Eriksen would enjoy the tale of how Thor had slaughtered a court of Frost Giants for the sake of his own pride.  Not that Loki had ever had much sympathy for the Jotuns, whose practice it was to leave their runt sons exposed to the elements, whipped by the wind until their tears dried.  Yet, did the fact that they were a race of monsters lessen Thor’s guilt? Had not his motivation been utterly _pathetic?_

Loki blinked.  He made a faint motion of shaking his head at himself, knowing that he was beginning down a path as unhelpful as it was unfair.  Thor was not the same person now as he had been then. Over the grand course of his brother’s life, that era, marked by bratiness, debauchery, and entitlement, while not short in length, seemed greatly diminished by the quality of the last several years -- even Loki had begun to easily admit this.  
  
And when it came to the Jotuns, well, he had played his own role in that.  
  
And then there was the deal Thor had struck with Stark and Stephen Strange...  
  
Dr. Eriksen started for the church.  
  
Perhaps what made him so angry was the simple fact that she had a point.  He had played a role in something horrific. And while it was true that Thanos had taken him apart and put him back together again and again _and again_ \-- until Loki thought his soul a trifle to give away and was ripe for his nefarious mission -- he had still walked willingly into that Titan’s open arms.  In the fraction of a second, the greatest mistake he had ever made, that a being _was capable of_ making, was already irreversible. Loki had made deal with the devil. A human description, but more than apt. And in return, Thanos molded him into a beast far more heinous than a mere Frost Giant. Loki truly had, at long last, become the monster parents told their children about at night.  
  
It seemed like another lifetime now.  In fact, in _was_ another lifetime.  Loki’s fingertips grazed his neck. He liked to believe that he, just as Thor, had earned some modicum of redemption.  
  
But if Dr. Eriksen did not feel safe in his presence, who could blame her?  She seemed brave enough to spend time with him at all. He would give her that much.  Loki felt what remained of his anger melt away, slowly becoming aware of the touch of his brother’s hand on his shoulder.  “Everything all right?”  
  
“Yes,” replied Loki, and by that point there was more truth in his words than there might have been moments before.  He was returning to feeling calm, even capable of looking at Dr. Eriksen with understanding, or something close enough.  His rage began to appear more as a bout of paranoia and Loki felt ashamed to have slipped so far down the rope so quickly.  His mind played cruel tricks now and again.  They were the remnants of the Titan's work on him.  He _hoped_ that was all it was.

Loki nodded at Thor.  “My thoughts got on a runaway ship, but I'm back again.”  
  
“Good.  Come now, wait till you see the inside.”  
  
The wind was biting, strong enough to whip Loki’s hair into his face with a sting.  He fought with it as they marched to the door of the church, which was shackled by an oversized steel padlock.  
  
“The church is under the _Fortidsminneforeningen_ ,” said Dr. Eriksen, with astonishing ease.  “The Preservation Society.  At about eight-thirty, someone will arrive to open the site to the public, so we’ll have only one-and-a-half hours to work, roughly”  
  
Thor reached for the padlock, examining it with care.  He turned to his brother. “Mind getting us in without destroying it?”  
  
Before he had finished his sentence, the steel began to melt in Thor’s hand.  It shimmered and it separated from the door and came back together in the same shape.  The wind pushed the door open, beckoning them to enter.  
  
Thor passed the lock to Dr. Eriksen as though was a memento she might keep, though they all knew it would have to be returned once they finished.  She placed it gingerly by the side of the door.  "Impressive."  Loki wondered if caught her smiling.  
  
He took a breath.  He would attempt to make an effort.  “I used to waste a lot of time attempting to actually open the locks.”  
  
“Oh?” she said, rising up.  In her heeled footwear, she was taller than she had been the other day.  If she dared to look him in the eyes, she might actually meet them.  And there was something about the juxtaposition of leather, rubber, and wool that Loki thought was rather fun.  Hel, if he needed to find something to like about the woman, fashion was at least a place to start.  
  
“Altering matter is much easier.”  
  
She quirked a more defined smile as she stepped toward the open door.  “You might not expect that, though, would you?”  
  
Loki clasped his hands behind his back and followed her in.  “Well, once you master the spell, you can apply it to just about anything.”  
  
“I thought your talents were mostly about creating illusions.”  
  
“Yes and no.  It takes more concentrated effort to have an effect on reality, but shifting metal a few inches to the side is easy.  You take it apart and rebuild as you go.”  
  
“When you put it that way, it does sound like child’s play.”  
  
“Oh, it is.  Which is why I still hold the family record for hide-and-seek.”  Loki chuckled and then coughed to clear his throat. “True, Thor?”  
  
“What?  Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes in the dark, and then closing them for a moment.  A wave of fatigue passed through his body with an all too familiar shudder.  Even so much as altering a lock required more energy than he had to give.

Since the bargain.

The pitch-black interior of the stave gave way to caramel-colored wood as Thor activated a light switch.  The church had been fitted with electric power so long ago that even the hardware looked a certain kind of ancient.  Loki craned his neck to stare into the belly of the cavernous layered roof, which was a different sort of meticulous on the inside, but no less impressive, with its criss-cross beams and decorative arches.  
  
“Just like a gingerbread house,” said Dr. Eriksen.  
  
“Not sure what that is,” replied Loki and Thor in unison.  
  
“It’s a… Christmas thing,” she replied.  
  
“What’s a Christmas thing?”  This question came from Loki alone.  His voice evaporated under the weight of his preoccupation, as he reached forward and pressed his palm against a low beam.  The lacquered wood was cool to the touch. He leaned in closer and took in a whiff through his nose. Was this pine? It looked like pine, but the pleasant scent had become muddled after years of rain, generations of visitors, and layers of protective lacquer.  
  
Loki turned in time to see the others enter a side-chamber.  He followed, ducking his head beneath a low arch.  
  
They found themselves in a narrow passageway, with only room enough for them to travel single file.  Their movements were filled with stops and starts, at times sending Loki’s face into the back of his brother’s head.  Thor and Dr. Eriksen were too engrossed in their own world to react. Their work had immediately begun.  
  
Loki’s task had less to do with finding the _thing_ and more to do with _opening_ the _thing_ once it had been found, but he had been thoroughly debriefed at the coffee shop.  As for the relic itself, that was where the legend became truly murky.  Odin's vault had been filled with tokens from his conquests, but Thor was convinced that his research pointed to something of Aesir origin, made by their forefathers.  So excited was he at every mention of the relic that Loki had, on each occasion, withheld comment that they did not accurately share the same forefathers.  Truly, Loki was undecided if he cared about finding anything at all, but it was fun to be away from New York.

The presence of the temple was, according to legend, marked by a particular set of runes.  Dr. Eriksen had explained something about Norse pagan practices continuing under a cloak of Christianity, and that the indication of the temple’s presence may have meant something very different than a warning not to enter.  She described it as a potential “secret handshake,” which Loki found far more interesting than a gravestone to mark the past.  
  
But he was of little use at this moment, and playing the part of Thor’s tag-along was not something he long endured.  For a while, he entertained himself by tracing his fingers along the walls’ intricate carvings, like pictorial lace. It was a design he could replicate later, once it was committed to memory.  Where he might make use of it, Loki did not know, but it was something pretty to tuck away.  
  
“Tell me, Dr. Eriksen,” he said at length, “If your preservation society is so keen on saving ancient things, how is it that you know more about the temple than they?”  
  
“I suspect I don’t,” she replied.  “They just haven’t been able to unlock the door.”  
  
“Hm,” sounded Loki.  
  
“So it’s good that you’re here,” she added.  “As Asgard’s reigning hide-and-seek champion.”  
  
Just as he had in the car, Loki pressed his lips together, fighting what threatened to become a smile.  Not that it mattered. Neither of them could see his face. He was just reluctant to give himself the satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

 _Tap tap tap.  Tap tap. Tap tap tap.  
  
_ Thor and Loki’s work echoed through the church, the sound bouncing off the multifaceted walls like a spider throwing strings of web.  It was eight o'clock. In each brother’s hands was a blunted staff, which Loki had conjured out of something similar to resin. Their discarded jackets and scarves had been tossed across various pews as their work caused them to slowly overheat in the windowless, airless structure.  
  
Mystical runes had not been found, but the new plan was to attempt to circumvent them by searching for hollows in the structure.  Magic or none, it seemed probably that a physical space existed between the frame of the church and that of the temple. The solution was practical, but time-consuming.  And repetitive. And _dull_.  And it was starting to seem very unlikely that they had selected the correct stave to explore right off.  
  
The brothers worked at opposite ends of the nave, Thor close to the altar and Loki far in the back.  Dr. Eriksen had vanished into the side chambers, still hoping to find the secret markings. There had been no sight of her for some time, but occasionally Loki could hear her heavy boots intermittent with their tapping.  
  
Abruptly, there was a shuddering thud.  Thor and Loki lifted their heads with concern, though before either of them could move, Dr. Eriksen shouted that she was _Okay!_ and that they should _Keep at it!_  The brothers exchanged a shrug and went back to work.  
  
Except that as Loki shifted northward in the nave, he caught sight of Dr. Eriksen through an archway leading to a small chamber.  With her hands pressed against her hips, she limped in a circle, looking upward. Loki turned to Thor, who was facing the other direction and too far to notice either way.  He considered obeying the woman’s orders to keep working, even going so far as to give the floor a few more taps, and then, rolling his eyes at himself, Loki left his task behind and walked into the tiny room.  
  
“I hope you haven’t started scaling the walls,” he said.  Loki approached with hesitation, knowing it would likely bother her to have been noticed, by him, and in part also closing in on her for that exact reason.  
  
“What?” she said, distractedly.  “Oh. I’m fine.”  
  
“I can see that you’re fine, but what were you trying to do?”  
  
Loki looked upward, immediately spotting what Eriksen had attempted.  In the ceiling, about a meter over his own head, she had discovered the first interesting thing all day: a folding staircase, almost to a ladder, concealed in the ceiling.  It was old, but not ancient, and it appeared to have been sawed off at the base, where it might have further unfolded, to discourage the exact sort of thing Dr. Eriksen was determined to do.  
  
“I want to get up there,” she said.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because someone doesn’t want me to,” she said.  
  
The answer satisfied Loki.  He decided to assist her in her foolish endeavor.  Jumping up, his hands gripped the edge of the ladder, and he pulled down with the entirety of his weight.  His legs swung forward. But the ladder did not move.  
  
Loki dropped back to the floor.  “Hm. Shall I turn it into something else?”  
  
“Only as a last resort.  It might be important to leave it intact.  I don’t want to miss anything.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  There was always the possibility that he might not be able to reconstruct it exactly as it had been.  Loki adjusted his angle on the sight, squinting into the exposed gap, but all he could see was shadows.  “I could _magic_ you up,” he said, swirling his finger in the air just as she had done when she suggested he conjure his own coffee.  
  
Dr. Eriksen shook her head.  “Pass.”  
  
“It wouldn’t hurt.”  
  
“I’m not eager to find out _whatever_ it feels like,” she said.  
  
“Humans are so squeamish.”  But Loki’s face expressed consternation, not annoyance, because the last thing he could think to suggest was lifting her with his own hands, which would have been easy, except that given the angle of the opening and the size of the room, it would quickly become an intimate situation, like two novice dancers attempting an awkward pas de deux.    
  
Loki scratched his palm and scowled.  There _had_ to be a solution.  And he enjoyed a good riddle.  
  
Ultimately, it took only another minute before he circumvented all their problems.  "Ah!"  That he had not thought of it first was a bit embarrassing. Ought he to have drank some coffee?  
  
The Loki beside Dr. Erikson dissolved and a second later, his form took shape at the top of the ladder.  He crawled down as far as he could, hooked his feet onto rungs to anchor himself, and extended a hand. “There,” he said.  “Ladder unscathed, you unscathed. Does that satisfy all the prerequisites? Grab my hand.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen was forced to look at him, though she stole a moment for a glance over her shoulder -- most likely searching for Thor.  Loki waved his hand to call back her attention. After another second of hesitation, she wiped her palm against her knit dress and wrapped her fingers around his.  Her palm was cold and tense, but Loki had expected as much and chose to overlook it.  
  
Lifting her was the easy part, but scooting backward up the ladder was trickier than Loki expected.  Typically, he found ways to outsmart this kind of physical demand. His backside hit a wall, forcing him to sit up.  He pressed his body against the wood and pulled Dr. Eriksen the rest of the way. “There you go.”  
  
They were in some sort of corridor.  The air was musty, thick with dust. His vision adjusted to the dim light and he was surprised to find Dr. Eriksen’s eyes on him.  It was a sideways stare, intense but furtive, as though she thought it might be something she could steal in the darkness and he might not notice.  
  
Loki knew not what to make of it.  Not at all. “What?”  
  
As he expected, she turned away, shaking her head a little.  “I was just surprised by how strong you are.”  
  
Loki’s brows folded over his eyes, which burned before going cold, cold as ice.  She was witness to none of it, of course. “In comparison to Thor, you mean.”  
  
“No.  Yes.  I guess.”  
  
It turned his stomach.  Had Thor not been so insistent that he and Cora had never engaged in a physical relationship, he might have been swamped by many unwanted images of his brother's displays of strength.  Still, he felt cold and hot at the same time.  Loki shook off the sickening feeling by rising to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes along the way.  “Yes, well, _surprise_ surprise.”  
  
“It was just that you did it _one-handed_.”  
  
“ _Please_.”  Loki scraped past her toward a beam of light at the end of the passageway.  
  
An archway lead back to the nave of the church, though at a higher tier.  It was a path which encompassed the entire perimeter of the structure. He chose a direction at random and began to walk it.  Soon, he could hear Dr. Erikson moving the opposite way. Their footfalls garnered Thor’s attention, who halted his tapping and looked up, hopeful.  “Have you found something?”  
  
“No,” said Loki.  
  
“Not yet,” said Dr. Eriksen.  
  
Loki craned his neck and take in the intricate ceiling from this new angle.  Dr. Eriksen could look for runes on her own. But the act of walking with his eyes pointed upward quickly turned dizzying, or perhaps it was the rush of blood to his head, and he came to a full stop as the path angled.  His pulse asserted its presence with a dull but strident thud _thud_ ** _thud_** in is ears, an echo to Thor’s tapping against the floor, or more like an army on the march.  
  
He curled his fingers around the wooden barrier that served as an outer wall on the catwalk.  For months now, his moods had centered on apathy, and to suddenly feel fire was to be uncomfortably warm.  Loki cared no longer that Dr. Eriksen had a point worth making about New York or her knowledge of Norse history or anything else about the woman.  He had offered her his literal hand in kindness and she repaid him with a swift comparison to whatever it was about his brother that was perceived as perfection.  
  
“Listen, that was rude of me,” she whispered.  How long she had been standing at his elbow, he knew not.  “But I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” he hissed at the same volume.  “I’m _quite_ used to it.  People are constantly forgetting that Thor and I are _both_ of Asgard.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen looked ready to reply, though instead all she did was closed her mouth and held it shut, teeth pressing down on her lips.  He stepped toward her, tilting his head. It was time for him to play archeologist for a while, to dig up history that was better left buried.  
  
For the first time, to her credit, Dr. Eriksen did not recoil.  Her feet seemed planted, though he considered it her loss when she glanced downward at her footing.  
  
“ _Perhaps_ you’re scared to be up here, alone with me, knowing how I could so _effortlessly_ send you flying over the banister if the whim took me.”  
  
The timbre of his voice was a far cry from its characteristic snake-like coldness; it was harsh and throaty, on the attack.  With a flash of dramatic light, the wool and suede that clothed him became leather, black and green, and a velvety cape stretched itself across his shoulders.  
  
Still, Dr. Erikson remained fixed, and it began to puzzle Loki.  
  
“I’m not scared of you,” she said.  Her voice trembled, but juxtaposed against her firm resolve to see the moment through, Loki did not fault her for it.  
  
No, he… He _believed_ her.  
  
Why?  
  
His lips parted, but Loki’s mind had shifted into a speed too fast to articulate on the spot.  He assessed what his eyes could see in the dark, so close to the dramatic angles of ceiling, which shielded them from the electrical lights below.  Was it simply that she was able to meet his gaze and hold it, now that they were knee-deep in the muck of her prejudice and she could not take her leave without consequence.  What was impressive about a rat in a trap?  
  
Before he could ask anything at all, she spoke again.  “All right, I admit that I’m scared, but you don’t understand, it isn’t about you.  I mean… It _is_  you, in a way. But not in the way that you think.”  
  
Loki knew not what to make of it.  Not at all. “What do you think that I think?”  
  
“That I’m judging you.  The way that everyone else probably does.”  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I imagine. That’s what it must be like.”  
  
Loki swallowed.  As he attempted to respond, he found that his ribs had become like a vice around his chest.  “Everyone else?” He did not want to talk about everyone else. “Then what is it? What frightens you?”  
  
Dr. Eriksen ran her tongue across her lips.  At long last, she looked ready to bolt from her spot on the catwalk.  
  
“What have I done to you?” he asked.  He had ceased to believe her so readily.  
  
Again, she hesitated to answer, murmuring a few unintelligible sounds before going silent, and Loki felt his budding compassion whither and die.  His eyes became thin slits. In a flash, he felt he understood everything. Dr. Eriksen was not reticent to look at him because of the physical threat he posed, but because of what his eyes could see, and Thor’s could not.  He recalled the germination of his suspicion in the coffee shop and later when his mind had wandered in the bath. It had always been more than sheer gut instinct, but Thor had told him to stuff it down, and in the process of that, he had nearly forgotten.  
  
But Loki knew what it looked like to he hiding something.  Dr. Eriksen had some manner of secret. She did not want him to pry, even to look too closely, because whatever it was must have meant some manner of undoing.  
  
He looked downward at his brother.  Thor was already looking back at them -- it was anyone’s guess for how long.  Loki’s eyelids fluttered. He was convinced that “random” had nothing to do with the moment when his brother and Dr. Eriksen met.  Thor was too open-hearted, too trusting, most especially when a pretty face was staring back at him, and he often did not catch up with his mistakes until long after they were already made.  
  
But lucky for them both, Loki had once survived a deal with the devil, and he knew what to do next.  
  
"We'll see," he hissed as he turned on his heels, cape spinning and then vanishing as his royal garments transformed back into the Nordic fashion he had been wearing.  Before reaching the next corner, he simply transported himself back to the ground level.  
  
“We’re out of time,” he called to his brother as he walked toward the rear of the nave.  He would wait for them by the car and he _would_ be taking the rear seat.  “ _Do_ assist Dr. Eriksen down from her perch.  I fear she’s climbed higher than she can manage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving a comment is a great way to let me know you are out there enjoying the story. I would love to hear from you and make new friends.


	5. Fotografiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thor had learned, however, that his brother responded poorly to a kick in the ass. Winning him over required patience, usually some level of reverse psychology, and in all instances affection. The last element was the easiest, it was the first two which had never been in Thor’s wheelhouse._

 

**Chapter 5: Fotografiet**

 

 

They traveled back to Siene in silence; save for a few comments regarding directions, which passed between Thor and Cora alone.  Loki, stretched across the rear seat, said not a thing for the entirety of the journey, but his mood filled the car with both fire and ice.  Cora’s kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and it seemed a challenge to maintain focus on roads which should have been long-familiar to her.  
  
For his own part, Thor felt as though he was primarily biding his time; working hard to keep his growing agitation in check.  To a point. Some daggered glances he could not help but throw in his brother’s direction; all of which were ignored. Eventually, Loki closed his eyes and seemed intent on ignoring the entire universe.  
  
Thor worked with what he had in trying to decipher the heated exchange he had witnessed in the church.  From below, he had seen much and heard almost none of it; but it was not long before Thor found himself constructing a worst-case scenario and, as usual, he struggled to stave off the guilt of not preventing it.   _Somehow_.  
  
Fortunately, the trip was short.  The words he had for Loki could wait.  But not forever.  
  
The little electric car rolled to a stop in front of his apartment.  Thor half-expected his brother to have spent the entire ride preparing a few scathing remarks for his departure.  Quiet as he had been, it still surprised Thor when Loki left without any comment whatsoever.  
  
Thor lingered for a moment once the door was closed, watching his brother disappear around the back toward the rear entry.  Without warning, actually startling him, he felt something cold touch his wrist and, looking down, saw that it was Cora’s hand.  He traced his way to her face and saw there an expression never before worn by his friend, though admittedly until now their exchanges had only been of a certain type, chiefly focused on their work and seldom breeching anything remotely emotional.  
  
...What he saw on her face was remorse.  And it surprised him. In a way, it disturbed him.  
  
_How well do you know you doctor friend?_  Loki’s question from the night before reasserted itself unbidden, almost as if his brother had remotely forced himself into his mind, but it was Thor’s own voice that he heard.  
  
When Cora spoke, there was a break in her voice.  “Tell him I’m sorry. _Please_.  If you think you can.”  
  
The request further perplexed Thor; the confusion taking form on his his face as a scowl so deep that it briefly disturbed the circuits of his false eye, sending Cora out of focus.  
  
Loki had already been out of sight for longer than seemed wise in his distemper; but in light of Cora’s words, Thor found himself once again reviewing his impression of what had unfolded on the upper tier of the church.  Loki had hissed some very cruel-sounding tones and had altered his appearance, and it was easy to assume his intention was to intimidate. And while Thor _had_ considered that his brother might have been responding to some manner of slight, as was fairly often the case, he could not imagine Cora, so poised and mindful, had actually done something to deserve it.  Though… it _was_ true that she and his brother had had their near misses at the coffee shop.  Thor felt a pang of guilt for assuming what might have been far too _much_ of Cora and far too _little_ of Loki.  
  
“What happened?”  By the time he asked, Thor was ashamed of himself for taking so long to consider making such a basic inquiry.  
  
She shook her head.  “I struck a nerve.”  
  
Thor frowned, but he also nodded.  His brother had a great deal of nerves to strike.  Still, he was not ready to acquiesce to her that she should shoulder all the blame.  “Loki ought to have known better than to react like that.” In full view of him! But he did not say that part of it.  He watched Cora chew on her lip. “You won’t say more?”  
  
“I made an unkind comparison,” she offered.  Her shoulders tensed. A pink bloom had begun to spread across her cheeks, bright enough that Thor felt guilty for pressing.  He would feel less guilty about dragging answers out of Loki, though Cora’s revelation had altered things. His mood had thawed.  
  
She cleared her throat.  “Are we still meeting tonight at the cafe?  To discuss what we found? Or _didn't_ find?”  
  
“I will be there.  Hopefully not alone.”  
  
“I really am sorry.  Make sure you tell him.”  
  
He nodded soberly.  
  
Thor patted Cora on the hand and stepped out of the car, choosing not to watch her dive off in favor of running after his brother.  
  
The sun had risen, but the sky seemed no less gray.  Rain threatened.  
  
There was always the possibility that he would not find Loki were he was expected to be.  In truth, it had become the general rule over the centuries. There had been the playful games, of course, the times when being scarce was more about lying in wait with a knife for a surprise attack.  They had such fun as children! But Loki was a different kind of unpredictable when his mood turned sour; except for his penchant for vanishing.  
  
Thor sounded his entry into the apartment by loudly clearing the cold air from his chest.  
  
Everything felt like _muck_.  Just when things were starting to take a turn for the better and Loki appeared as if he might enjoy something about Earth...  And then there was the matter of _whom_ Thor would have to answer to if he really had _lost_ his brother less than twenty-four hours after gaining permission to take him to Norway.  Not that Loki was capable of going far. Strange had seen to that.  
  
But to his great relief, Loki was indeed within the apartment.  He had returned to his bed, stretched on his belly like a rag doll.  His face was hidden from view; just a mop of black hair. He looked far more pathetic than Thor expected.  Norns, what _had_ Cora said  
  
“Brother,” said Loki, his voice muffled by fabric, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”  
  
Of course, Thor had not yet uttered a word.  He glared so intensely that he was certain Loki could feel it through the back of his skull.  “Cora won’t talk about it. You won’t talk at all. What am I to think happened?”  
  
“It was nothing,” Loki replied.  “Don’t trouble yourself.”  
  
“ _Nothing_ warrants all this?”  
  
“It will blow over.  I’m just tired.”  
  
Thor’s scowl deepened, somehow.  He did not like for problems to linger, for anger to simmer; he prefered a swift resolution, applying force when necessary, and Loki’s moods seldom simply _blew over._  He had learned, however, that his brother responded poorly to a kick in the ass.  Winning him over required patience, usually some level of reverse psychology, and in all instances affection.  The last element was the easiest, it was the first two that had never been in Thor’s wheelhouse. Nor was memory, as he had already forgotten to communicate Cora’s apology.  
  
Thor clenched his jaw and forced his measured reply.  “I hope that it does.”  
  
Loki lifted a hand and gave the air a wave.  A duplicate figure of himself appeared at the door, placed his hand on the knob, and began to push it closed.  “Now, if you’d keep things quiet, I’d like a nap.”  
  
“It’s still morning--”  
  
The second Loki lifted a finger to his lips.  He _shhhh’d_ his brother.  And _click_ went the door.  
  
Thor’s shoulders dropped.  He had at least hoped they had moved beyond Loki’s catlike desire to sleep through the day, though comparing him to an animal made it sound far more pleasant than it actually was.  Loki had woken so easily that morning. He had been so lively, put an effort into fashion, and had even taken an interest in exploring the stave!  All of that progress had fallen apart in a literal instant.  
  
Thor blasted air from his nostrils.   _Why_ would Cora have hurt his brother so?  The _how_ no longer seemed to matter.  
  
He turned away from the door, but not until he was certain the room had gone completely silent.  Perhaps Loki was worse off than he had been willing to accept. It would not have been the first time Thor’s hope had blinded him.

 

* * *

 

It was several hours later when Loki emerged from the bedroom, well past lunch.  Thor had considered preparing a meal for him, out of the leftover turkey, but if Loki refused to eat it would only serve to further depress Thor.  He had lost weight in New York, but neither of them spoke of it. So, Thor was nearly sent into shock when Loki all but bounded out of the bedroom with fire in his eyes and announced, “I’m starving!  Let’s go out.”  
  
Thor, who was reclined on the sofa with the television on and a pile of maps at his feet, came to life with a start.  “What?”  
  
To top off the surreal nature of the moment, his brother had once again changed his clothing: black shirt over black jeans with a black sweater, the sort the buttoned in the front.  A cardigan? As usual, the fabric had been tailored within an inch of its life, which Thor thought highlighted his brother’s angular frame in a somewhat unattractive way, but he had lost that argument too many times.  Furthermore, his hair was tied in a knot on the back of his head. Loki _never_ wore his hair in such a way and frequently mocked Thor for doing so, when it had been such a length.  Loki’s long dark waves had become something Thor envied, though he would never admit it.  
  
Loki moved like the wind, which had picked up quite a bit.  A storm was brewing to the south of the archipelago. “There’s a place I noticed.  Hurry up. They stop serving at fifteen -- at _three_ o’clock.”  
  
Thor followed the trail his brother was blazing out the door and down the stairs.  “I suppose I could eat again,” he said, trying to make conversation. His brain felt as if he had left it behind on the sofa.  “Damn. Wait. I left the television on.”  
  
Loki pointed a finger in the air.  “Taken care of.”  
  
The place turned out to be one called **_Godt Brod_** , where Thor had eaten many times.  It was no surprise that Loki had picked it out of the rough.  Thor had initially thought it stuffy, on trend for the sake of attracting tourists, but the food had proven to be well worth the atmosphere.  In fact, it was Cora who had introduced him to the spot. It stood directly beside her cafe.  
  
It was perilously close to the end of the lunch service, but they were given a table.  In fact, by the time they were seated, Loki had charmed the waitress into a broad smile, and given every indication that her tip would be ample.  Thor felt as if he was observing everything from behind a pane of glass. Who was this character sitting across from him and what had he done with Loki?  Or better, what had prompted his long-absent brother to finally come out of the woodwork and cast aside the sad creature who had been playing the part so many months?  
  
Loki did not need to look at the menu.  He knew exactly what he wanted. He ordered a smoked fish platter for them to split and glasses of hard cider.  Thor did not protest. The meal sounded fine. And he hardly knew what to say about anything that was happening, anyway.  
  
The place was half-empty and once the server departed, the brothers were left in a rather secluded corner.  Loki unfolded his napkin, pausing to momentarily rub at what looked to be a streak of dark blue ink on his thumb.  
  
“You seem… _refreshed_ ,” said Thor.  
  
“Hm?”  Loki looked up.  “Yes. Well, what do they say?   _Naps beyond measure are man's greatest treasure._ ”  
  
“Who says that?”  
  
“It’s a saying.  Humans say it.”  
  
“Not once have I heard--”  
  
Their server returned with a bottle of sparkling water and filled two glasses before disappearing again.  Thor watched as Loki took an eager drink. He lifted his own glass to his lips, holding it for a moment and thoughtfully sucking on the back of his tongue.  The spot of ink on Loki’s thumb was one of many, now that he had a good view. Just what had he been doing in that bedroom? Writing in a diary?  
  
Well, that was indeed possible.  But it was unlike Loki to be sloppy.  And for Loki to make an appearance without polishing _every_ edge typically meant one of two things: one, he was depressed -- but that did not presently seem to be the case; two, he had found something exciting enough that it was worthy of distraction.  
  
The server returned with their amber-colored beverages.  
  
Thor straightened up, pulling in a breath.  If Loki _truly_ wanted Thor not to question anything about what was happening, then he would have brushed his hair and scrubbed his hands clean and he would not have burst from the bedroom like a demon out of Hel.  
  
No, Loki was smart, but Thor was not stupid.  
  
“You changed your clothes.”  Thor’s tone was more accusatory than he would have liked, but on second thought it served its purpose.  
  
Loki shrugged.  A faint smile tugged at his thin lips, as if he was pleased with how the conversation was starting.  “This is more comfortable.”  
  
“Why are your hands dirty?”  
  
His brother did not respond.  His eyes shifted merrily to the side.  Thor felt his stomach lurch. He leaned forward across the table.  Anyone looking would have noticed an actual spark flash at the center of Thor’s left eye.  “Loki,” he whispered harshly. “ _Where_. _Have_. _You_. _Been_?”  
  
Loki’s tongue shot out between his lips, which parted to reveal a the most mischievous of all his smiles.  “Alright, here it is,” he said, matching Thor’s low tone. He leaned in the rest of the way, so that the brothers were nose-to-nose.  “I went to Trondheim.”  
  
Thor’s brows knit.   _Trondheim_?  
  
“To the Norwegian University of Science and Technology.  To the _museum_.”  
  
“Why?”  As quickly as he had uttered the question, his face fell.  “Loki, no. _Why_?”  
  
“You won’t believe what I’ve learned about Dr. Eriksen.”  
  
Thor drew back his head.  Had his brother’s paranoia obtained some sort of actual result?  Yet, Thor could not subdue his curiosity as it lurched forward; all but causing an out-of-body experience.  
  
There was something about his conversation with Cora after the incident -- he could not put his finger on what it was, exactly -- that still sat in his stomach like a stone.  She had expressed apology, but what he had seen was _remorse_.  There was a depth of feeling, of sadness, that did not match an argument which had been less than a minute long.  And now that Thor was thinking about it all over again, he wondered if he had not witnessed the same faraway look in Cora’s eyes at other times, as well.  
  
At last, Thor nodded as if giving Loki his blessing to continue, which in a way, he was.  It would have been just as easy to refuse his brother’s intel. Or _could_ have been.  He wished that it was, but in truth, it wasn’t.  Thor had no choice but to hear him out. “What did you find?”  
  
Loki flicked his wrist.  In the palm of his hand, a piece of paper took form, not an illusion, but something physical.  It was a photograph, something common in Midgard. He slid it across the table to Thor, who looked down with ever-growing dread; in part because more than anything else, his brother had just produced proof that he was a fool not to have believed him sooner.  
  
The picture appeared to have been taken outdoors in a park setting.  Everyone was bundled up warmly and there were patches of snow on the ground.  The entire image was tinted yellow with age, made all the worse by the fact that everyone was wearing shades of brown that even he knew to be ugly.  It appeared to be something like a company photograph, taken during an outdoor excursion or party activity. Everyone wore a bright smile. He picked out Cora right away.  
  
Her hair was much longer, pulled to either side in a braid.  The blonde was still blonde, but more yellow, less platinum, although it may have been a quality of the aging paper.  Other than that, she looked quite the same.  
  
Thor lifted his eyes to Loki.  “I… I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”  
  
“Turn it over.”  
  
Thor did.  On the back of the paper was a number.  1,972. Or... no, this was a date. The _year_ was 1972.  
  
Nineteen. Seventy. Two.  
  
“Shit.  Are you… Is this… Is this _real_?  Loki, do you _swear_ that this isn’t some sort of trick?”  
  
“No trick, brother,” he replied.  His face had grown serious, too. If he was still taking pleasure in his discovery and Thor’s reaction, he had at least chosen not to gloat, which frankly only increased Thor’s anxiety.  “That photograph was taken over forty-five years ago.”  
  
“Cora isn’t… She can’t be so old.  It isn’t possible.”  
  
“I agree,” sighed Loki.  “It isn’t. And yet, she is in this photograph.  And I spoke with someone who was there at the time, who remembered Cora well.  This woman.”  
  
He reached out and pointed to someone standing in the back, at a woman who was roughly mid-thirties -- though ages had become arbitrary -- with a plump figure and a bright, cheerful face.  An honest face. “Who is she?” he asked.  
  
“Her name is Ida Berg.  She worked with Dr. Eriksen back then and she is still there, now.  Only she looks much, _much_ older.”  
  
Thor reached for his cider and drank it like it was water.  
  
“Loki,” he said, after the final swallow.  “I don’t understand what this could possibly mean.  Except for… the obvious.” That Cora was old. But what did being old mean?  What kept her looking young?  
  
Had his stumbling into her coffee shop been random at all?  Why was she so keen to search the churches with him? Suddenly, the implications seemed endless and Thor experienced a wave of vertigo. He placed the photograph on the table, positioning it so that each pair of eyes was looking up at Loki.  “I need you to tell me everything you know.”  
  
The God of Stories leaned in toward his brother.  He opened his mouth and took a sip from his glass before the tale began.  “All right. Here it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to leave me a comment if you are out there and enjoying the story. I really love to hear from people. :) :) :)


	6. Detektiv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Loki was convinced, he could be the most hard-headed person in all of… At one time, it would have been merely Asgard, but their scope of the cosmos had grown, and it seemed plausible that Loki was capable of out-stubborning the universe.

 

**Chapter 6: Detektiv**

 

Loki was not ten words into his tale when their platter of smoked fish arrived.  The plate was heavy with glistening salmon, cream cheese, cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, dark brown bread...   But Thor’s stomach turned at the idea of putting anything into it.  
  
Loki eyed the late lunch hungrily; a look which was fairly out of character.  He truly must have depleted himself, whatever mischief he had been up to. “You don’t mind if I eat while I talk?” he asked, already reaching for the food.  
  
Thor gestured that Loki could do whatever he needed to do and, while his brother constructed his first bite, took the time to circle his eyes around the ultra-modern restaurant.  It was almost completely empty by now. Ambient music filled his ears. Good. Their conversation required privacy.  
  
Thor’s eyes ultimately came to rest on the wall behind him, the wall shared with Cora’s cafe.  He could imagine her on the other side, sitting at her counter, reading, as he so often found her upon entering.  Or maybe she was fiddling with the _Rubik’s Cube_ she kept on hand.  Minutes ago, Thor could have thought of these things with completely neutrality, they were memories without meaning, except being vaguely pleasant, but now the images seemed false, a hollow pretense; his concept of Cora was in pieces.  
  
He turned back to Loki, who was picking at capers.  The knotted bun on the back of his head made him look like more of a hipster than Thor had ever dared.  
  
“Could you hurry it up a bit?”  
  
Loki nodded; his apologetic expression sincere.  He pushed a cucumber topped with fish into his mouth and swallowed.  “Here’s what happened...”  
  
“I had decided I was going to go to Trondheim during the ride back from the church, but I admit, I wasn’t very hopeful that I would find anything.  I’d never been there before; I wasn’t sure where I would begin. But while you and Cora were focused on the road, I sent myself ahead to the university, to do some recognizance.”  
  
“You _were_ being very quiet.”  
  
“It takes a _bit_ more concentration to maintain a projection while you’re seated in a moving vehicle.”  Loki pinched his index finger and thumb together. “I knew I had about an hour to locate someone who knew Dr. Eriksen or find some memento of her time there.  I think it must be a habit of schools to hang photographs and leave them up for years on end--”  
  
Thor interrupted.  “So she _is_ Dr. Cora Eriksen?  That much is true?”  
  
“Yes,” nodded Loki.  “That is factual. I would go so far as to say that everything she said yesterday appears to be the truth.”  
  
“I only remember her talking about leaving her job at the university.”  
  
“Yes,” Loki deftly pieced together another morsel of food, using a delicate touch more suited to an intensive craft than luncheon.  “She said as little as possible. Has she told you more in the past?”  
  
“Not much,” admitted Thor.  He shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.  I know that… I _think_ that she spent time in England.  There’s the accent. That’s real, I assume.”  
  
“It’s a strange accent, isn’t it?” Loki muse.  “Perhaps we’ve spent too much time in the United States.  It’s the same language, but every word out of an Englishman’s mouth sounds like it’s achieved self-awareness.”  
  
“It is off-putting at times,” agreed Thor.  “Back to what were you saying about photographs?  Did you find this--” He tapped the one Loki had brought, with Cora circa 1972, looking just as she did in the present day.  “--hanging on a wall?”  
  
Loki shook his head, ate the miniature piece of art he had constructed, and continued.  
  
“No, but I found a different photograph with her in it.  It was formal, either a class picture or something from a project.  No date, but there were names printed on the bottom. I committed them to memory and it was about then when we all arrived at Seine.  I went to the apartment and once you left me to nap, I dug up my cellular phone and Googled the names. Out of all of them, only one was still employed by the university: Dr. Ida Berg; the same woman who is in the photo I showed you.  She is currently seventy-seven years old.”  
  
Thor felt his shoulders strike the back of his chair.  More than that, he felt his body deflate like a leaking balloon.  Many times he had placed Mjölnir on someone's chest to hold them in place, doing the job of a paperweight.  The sensation of his lungs emptying out all of their air must have been similar. His ribs began to ache.  
  
He did not say anything because he could not speak, and so Loki went on.  
  
“Once you left me in the bedroom, I went back to Trondheim, this time physically.  Now, I knew I was looking for this Dr. Berg, but I could not find an up-to-date photograph on either the University website or on the Google search engine.  I thought I was still looking for a relatively young woman. It did not occur to me that the photograph on the wall had been taken so long ago.”  
  
“How could it, I suppose…” breathed Thor, shaking his head.  
  
“I wasn’t sure how I would get any information out of her, so I planned a heartfelt appeal.  If you let someone believe they are assisting in matters of true love, they are usually eager to help.  
  
“You’ve lost me,” said Thor.  
  
Loki gave Thor the same look he always did when he struggled to keep up with one of his stories, half-rolling his eyes.  “I posed as a suitor.”  
  
Thor looked as though he was doing calculations in his head, though he was half-glaring at Loki, as well.  He did not like it when Loki looked at him as though he was stupid. Had the moment felt less serious, he would have argued on the spot that his brother’s mind was too abstract for _anyone_ to keep the same pace, and that Loki was not ahead in the race so much as he was running on a different track entirely.  But he did not say those things. He had only received half an eye roll, which earned half a glare, and the transaction ended there.  
  
“You posed as _suitor_ to _Cora_?”  He needed to clarify that much.  
  
“That was the plan,” said Loki.  “I constructed this story where she and I had met on vacation in Amsterdam a few years prior and had a wild affair, made promises to each other, but then I had to take care of my ailing father and we lost contact.  But now, here I was, come all the way to the University to declare my undying love. I had a bouquet of roses. Honestly, Thor, _why_ are you looking at me that way?”  
  
Loki came to an abrupt halt and Thor realized it was now he whose face was contorted to express… Honestly, he had no concept of how he must have looked, only that it apparently rubbed Loki the wrong way.  If anything, Thor was vaguely amused by some of the elements in the persona his brother had created, particularly the part about caring for a sick father, but the rest of him was anxious to get to the end of the tale.  He wanted real information about Loki’s discovery and he continued to withhold any comment that might take them off-topic.  
  
He shook his head and urged Loki onward.  
  
“I told my tale to the receptionist once I arrived, but she was new and did not seem to know who Dr. Eriksen was.  Or she knew her only vaguely. As luck would have it, Dr. Berg arrived while we were talking. The moment I saw her, I knew my lovelorn character was not going to work as well I had hoped.”  
  
“Because she was too old and you were suddenly too young,” said Thor.  
  
“I didn’t know that for certain, but call it a hunch.  How could I really understand what was happening? I didn’t know what to look for in the photograph on the wall, I don’t know anything about the fashions of Earth's nineteen-seventies.  All I knew was that Dr. Berg looked very, _very_ different than I expected.”  
  
Loki paused to eat a bit more.  Thor, too, at last reached for something to feed himself, because his head had become light.    
  
“Before the receptionist could say too much, I took Dr. Berg aside and gave her the story in a different light.  I inquired about Cora until I had enough information so that I could rework the part I was playing. I aged my appearance a bit, too, just enough that Dr. Berg might think it a trick of the lighting that I looked younger in the lobby than I did in her office.”  
  
“Sounds like you took advantage of an old lady,” commented Thor.  
  
Loki shrugged.  “Dr. Berg proved herself to be the perfect foil.  She remembered Cora affectionately. The two were dear friends.  When I told her how I had come to proclaim my love, and the University was the only place I knew to look, she could not have helped me quickly enough.  She gave me information she really should not have shared with a stranger, but humans do the most irrational things when they turn sentimental.”  
  
Thor picked up his cider that Loki had ordered and took a sip.  It was too sweet for his tastes, but sometimes a drink was a drink, and the idea of Loki pushing the ruse as far as he had needed a bit of alcohol to go down smoothly.  Or perhaps it simply embarrassed Thor to realize how all of this drama in Trondheim had gone down without even the slightest awareness on his part.  
  
“So she told you were to reach Cora now.  The address was in Seine?” asked Thor.  
  
“No, it’s a postal box in a different city.”  
  
Thor hummed.  He raised a hand to the space between his eyebrows, where it was starting to ache, and gave it a firm rub with his knuckles.  “What else did she tell you?”  
  
“Cora and Berg weren’t classmates, but they began working at the University at the same, in nineteen-seventy, and they stayed there for several decades.  Obviously, Berg is still there. Cora left about five years ago. Suddenly.”  
  
“Why suddenly?”  
  
Loki raised his shoulders level with his ears and lowered them again.  “Berg implied that she essentially up and left one day, but that it was possibly in the works for some time.”  
  
“I would assume it probably due to the fact that everyone was getting old except for her and it was beginning to raise suspicion.”  
  
“That would be my guess,” said Loki.  
  
Thor cupped his palms against his eyes.  The heat of his skin was soothing, as much as anything could be at this point.  “But did she say anything about her age and you coming to whisk her off her feet.  How old did you look?” He lowered his hands back to the table.  
  
“Compared to Berg, not nearly old enough, but that’s an interesting point.  I was just getting to that.” Loki leaned in and lowered his voice. He tapped the photograph on the table.  “While she was looking up Dr. Eriksen’s forwarding address, she happened on this photo. It was taken at some sort of picnic.  When she found it, Berg had quite the reaction. She pressed her hand to her heart and looked like she might start crying. It was enough for me to ask if she was all right.  
  
_Out of concern or were you still playing a part,_ Thor wondered.  He felt fleeting guilt for the thought, but it was a reflex to probe Loki’s motives, like muscle memory, and some wisdom in it.  Even if his brother had done this detective work on his behalf, looking out for him in ways that only Loki could conceive and execute, it was all too likely he harbored some personal reasons for looking into Cora’s past, as well.  
  
Thor suddenly called to mind Cora’s parting words that morning, when she pressed him to convey an apology to his brother.  In all the chaos, had forgotten. Perhaps the cider was loosening his mind. But Loki was still talking and he did not interrupt.  
  
“She didn't explain her tears, but she handed me the photograph.  I stared at it for a long time. And while I was staring, she said to me, ‘I’m so happy that she was finally able to let someone in.  And a man like you!’ I asked her what she meant. She said something to the effect of calling me tall, dark, and handsome, and that Cora seemed to have a type.”  
  
Thor lifted an eyebrow and Cora’s apology slipped back out of his mind.  
  
“Now, pretended to take at that, just to see how Berg would take it.  I said, ‘I hope it was more than just a man of my appearance she was after.’  She became very flustered and babbled about some incident or story Cora had told her.  Something about there being another man at one point and Cora rejecting him. I think it might have been this one…”  
  
Loki pointed to another figure in the photograph.  It was a stout young man, blond and boyish behind a pair of thick glasses.  Thor would have called him an inverted image of his brother, even more so than he himself.  
  
“I started to ask about when the photograph was taken, what it was from, all of that.  Berg told me that the date was on the back and I turned it over to look at it. That was when she asked me if Cora _looked the same_.  
  
Thor felt a chill move through him.  "So Berg was on to her?"  
  
“I told her that she did, in fact, look much the same.  Berg did not look surprised. And I remember with crystal clarity what she said next.  ‘Enterally youthful, that girl. She looked the same on the day she left as the day she started.’  To which I asked, carefully, 'Did she ever say anything that explained why?'  Dr. Berg would not answer.  ‘It’s fascinating, isn’t it?’ I said, to which she replied, ‘Cora never thought so. It made her very uncomfortable.’  I said, ‘But isn’t it everyone’s dream to stay young forever?’ And Berg said, ‘Not when people hate you for it.’"  
  
Thor knit his brows.  “Hate you? I guess that makes sense.  You stay young, everyone else grows old.”  It was probably especially hard for a human woman.  Alienating. Lonely, after a while.  If Berg knew, she was likely the only one.  
  
He reached for what remained of his cider drink and finished it.  His body, however, had already begun to loosen up without his realizing.  Loki’s intention had been to unearth a scandal, but Cora came off looking less like a perpetrator of some grand scheme and more like some manner of victim.  As to _why_ she did not age, they had no answer, and the possibilities were many, but she seemed to have behaved in a rational manner, trying to cut out a normal, even benign existence.  
  
It still did not expunge her for keeping the secret, but Thor found himself wishing that it did.    
  
“I’ll tell you the truth,” said Thor, absentmindedly reaching for hair to twist between his fingers, but it was too short now.  His hand clawed at the air around his shoulder. “It isn’t as bad as I was expecting.”  
  
Loki pulled back his head, appalled.  “Not as bad as-- _Thor_ , she clearly isn’t human, but she’s attempted to dupe us into thinking so.  Do you _really_ think she did not recognize you the moment you walked into her cafe?”  
  
“I can’t say.”  
  
“It’s possible the cafe itself is a complete illusion.  A mousetrap.”  
  
Thor looked at his brother incredulously.  “If it is, she spends an awful lot of time there, making coffee.”  
  
With a flick of the wrist, Loki tossed Thor’s rebuttal aside.  His face bore a rare flush, as if his irritation literally bringing heat to his skin.  Thor knew what would come next. Loki would accuse him of being too trusting, too narrow-minded.  And Loki would have been right, for in spite of everything, Thor concluded that he did still care about Cora, even though she very well might not deserve it.  Yes, perhaps his brother would be proven right, but he was not apt to call pessimism wisdom. His gut told him that he was not so dense that he would have missed every clue than Cora’s intentions were nefarious.  Again, Thor recalled her apology in the car, and again he questioned if his brother might have taken something too personally. Cora had seemed to think so.  
  
“Think back,” said Loki.  “Back to when you first decided to come to Norway.  Was there anything out of the ordinary about that? Do you remember a sense that you were being prompted or lured?”  
  
“No, it was all very organic.”  Thor’s words had become firm, for in spite of Loki’s story, the facts about Cora had not much increased.  All they truly knew was that she did not age. Well, neither did either of them, hardly.  
  
An idea sparked and Thor brightened.  “What if it’s simply that she is Aesir?  This is Norway. She’s made our history her field of study.  Perhaps one of our people came here, fathered a child… Come, Loki, it wouldn’t be the first time.”  
  
“Then why not tell us?” Loki pressed.  “Surely we would be the ones to tell.”  
  
“I don’t know,” admitted Thor.  He reached for another bite from the platter on the table and lapsed back into silent thought.  His brain felt reduced to grinding gears once again. Fatigue had set in, his forehead ached; it was likely he needed coffee.  
  
Loki finished his glass of cider, clenching his teeth as it went down less than smoothly, and frowned.  “You _do_ know.  You just don’t want to admit it.”  
  
Thor’s brow became knot.  “Admit to what?” But he had a very good idea of what would be the next words out of Loki’s mouth.  The time had come. His brother was occasionally _very_ predictable.  
  
“That you made an error in judgment.  You don’t want to believe the worst so you assume the best.  It’s how you deal with every problem. Or don’t deal.” Loki sat back and folded his arms with a huff.  “Really, Thor… Will you _ever_ learn?”  
  
Thor regarded his brother in silence, his mind roused by the accusation.  He debated with himself what he ought to say, decided against it, and then took the risk anyway.  “Do you mean when will I learn to distrust everyone so that I might not be hurt when they disappoint me?  I swear, you are the most cynical creature alive.”  
  
Loki’s attention spun away from the table, his eyes finding insignificant spot on the wall beside them and lingering.  He sucked his cheeks deeply into his mouth, bore down down with his teeth, and for whatever reason chose that moment to pull out his knotted hair and let it cascade down the back of his neck.  
  
It brought on a sinking sensation in Thor’s gut.  
  
He did not want to fight.  “I’m sorry. It’s just that you are in such a fit about proving Cora to be some kind of devil.”  
  
“Yes, well,” said Loki.  He pried his eyes from the wall and went back to work constructing canapés of smoked salmon.  “I’m not doing it for myself.”  
  
And there it was.  
  
Thor watched his brother attempt to craft the illusion that he had not lost his appetite.  He sighed deeply through his nose. Loki made a similar sound at the same time. Were their positions reversed, Thor knew he would have felt exactly as Loki did: frustrated, sidelined, thwarted.  The ways Loki showed Thor love were so peculiar to him -- they were peculiar _full stop_ \-- but for all the claims Loki made to despising sentiment, Thor had never known someone capable of loving so recklessly.  Except, perhaps, for Thor himself.  
  
“You have a point,” Thor conceded.  
  
Loki did not lift his eyes from the platter, though he was not doing anything especially decisive with it.  “Of course I have a point,” he said coolly. The shields had gone back up.  
  
“No, I mean it,” pressed Thor.  “You are right. Cora would not have kept these secrets from us, knowing who we are, given the nature of the work we are doing, unless she had reason to.  And that reason might very well be something ill. I should not assume the best of her, just because I want to.”  
  
“We need to tell her what we’ve dug up,” said Loki, shifting back into pragmatism now that Thor had dropped the opposition.  That he referred to them as a team might have been a slip of the tongue, or it might have been meant to draw his brother in deeper, but it was not lost on Thor.  
  
“We do,” Thor agreed.  “We are supposed to go over tonight, once she closes the cafe.  We’ll have to bring it up then.”  
  
Loki’s head snapped up.  “I’m sorry, why are we waiting?”  
  
“I… I don’t see the point in changing the time.  We could spend it thinking over how to approach her.”  Ever the war strategist.  
  
But Loki was a strategist in his own right.  “It would be smarter to catch her off-guard.”  
  
“I think showing her this photograph at any time is going to put the element of surprise firmly on our side,” said Thor.  
  
“But we are right next to the cafe,” argued Loki.  “Why waste time? You’re still assuming that we have time to waste.  You are hesitant because you still think her to be your friend.”  
  
It seemed they were immediately falling back on the same personal attacks as before.  “Loki, if I am willing to admit you may be right, I would appreciate it if you could think better of my judgment, as well.”  But Thor suspected the appeal would gain him little ground. When Loki was convinced, he could be the most hard-headed person in all of… At one time, it would have been merely Asgard, but their scope of the cosmos had grown. It seemed plausible that Loki was capable of out-stubborning the universe.  
  
So it genuinely shocked him when Loki gave up the fight.  He blinked and nodded slowly, straightening his back against his chair.  “Fine. We will proceed as if nothing has changed and wait until when we planned to meet her.”  
  
Thor blinked and swallowed.  His stomach had gone back to feeling like a collection of knotted coils.  And then, in a flash, his hand jumped across the table. He reached for his brother’s wrist.  His fingers passed through Loki’s flesh like a vapor. “No…”  
  
“You’ll thank me later,” said Loki.  The projection vanished.  
  
Thor leapt up on unsteady feet, knocking over his chair and nearly the table, as well.  The space around him tilted violently as he spun toward the door, catching brief sight of his brother pass a window, soldiering with brash determination in the direction of Cora’s coffee shop, his black attire like a storm pushing through the backdrop of the gray October sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to drop me a line if you have a minute! And look me up on Tumblr. My handle is mareebird.


	7. Stormen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With sheer force of will, Loki tore himself from the claws of the painful memory, relieved that no one else in the room seemed to have noticed that his mind had traveled so far from the cafe. He was back, now; he still had work to do. He would leave the sentiment to Thor._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \----
> 
> Loki confronts Cora with his discovery. Thor makes a choice.

 

**Chapter 7 - Stormen**

 

The wind nipped at Loki’s face as though it had real teeth.  All day, it had threatened rain. Whether the sky was at last turning black due to the polar night above the arctic circle or because the storm had finally arrived, he did not know.  It could not have been farther from his concerns. What was a little rain? He would be inside soon enough.  
  
The restaurant where he had taken lunch with Thor was directly adjacent to Dr. Eriksen’s coffee cafe..  Honey-colored light from her windows blended into the thick, sooty atmosphere of the darkening sky, and the storefront typeface sign flipped back and forth, cutting the wind with a repetitive clatter, until the shop name itself became an onomatopoeia: _kaffepause_ , _kaffepause_ , _kaffepause_.  It was like someone snapping to get his attention, someone Loki was determined to ignore.  He reached the door. And now came the moment when Thor’s shouting would assert itself above it all.  His brother was quick, and his appeal to what he believed to be reason, inevitable.  
  
“Loki!  Wait!”  
  
Perfectly on time.  The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched.  It was always possible that Thor might have been upon him before reaching the Dr. Eriksen, which was why he left to his brother the duty of paying for their meal, and bought for himself those critical few seconds.  Thor had the reliability of a clock and the moralism of a human. It was endlessly useful.  
  
Loki’s fingertips hovered above the doorknob, but his hand had not yet grasped it.  He looked toward his brother, who was closing in with haste, and wondered if the storm was something he was calling down himself.  When Loki turned the knob, would a bolt strike? It might. But he twisted it anyway.  
  
The cafe was empty, except for Dr. Eriksen, of course.  She was stacking clean glasses and mugs, as if preparing to close for the day, even though, in spite of the sun’s early disappearance, there were hours left to go.  The pastry case was already cleared and the ambient music was off, making the cozy cafe oddly desolate.  
  
She looked at Loki as if he was the last person on the planet that she expected to see, and undoubtedly he was.  Surprise drew blankly across her face, but whether it would break with a smile or frown would not be seen, for at that moment Thor entered the cafe, and Dr. Eriksen’s confusion began all over again.  
  
“You’re super early.”  She finished stacking a neat tower of ceramic espresso cups.  “I thought maybe you’d wait until the storm had passed. It’s supposed to be terrible.  I was about to batten down the hatches.”  
  
Thor moved past Loki, pushing his bulky shoulder against his brother’s arm in attempt to throw him off-balance, supersede his presence, something like that.  It did not faze Loki to step aside, and he did so neatly. He expected Thor’s anger, but it would not last, not when there were more pressing matters. Everything was in motion, everyone was in place.  Even Thor.  
  
“We were eating next door,” said Loki, to which Dr. Eriksen nodded.  “It made more sense to come here than to walk home.”  
  
Thor looked back and gave Loki a severe glare.  Loki lifted his brows. _Where is the lie?  
  
_ His brother would come around quickly, Loki was certain; he was certain about all of this.  He felt it in his marrow. Thor simply needed a push to play by someone else’s rulebook now and again, or learn to throw the book out entirely.  At the very least, if he could stop trying to curtail everyone’s whims to his own, they would have a much more harmonious relationship.  
  
But his heart was forever in the right place, exactly where Loki expected to find it, and the coals in Thor's started to cool.   Well, technically it was only the one eye, was it not? The false one was a convincing piece of artistry. He once asked his brother how he happened upon it and Thor fed him some nonsense about a rabbit smuggling it in his ass, and Loki stopped asking questions after that.  
  
Thor was giving him the pained look, now.  It was so difficult relinquish control, even a bit of it.  
  
_Come now, Brother,_ urged Loki with a tilt of his head.  
  
Thor dropped his shoulders.  
  
Their eyes moved, in unison, toward the photograph peeking from the pocket of Thor’s denim jacket, and met again.  Thor gave the slightest of nods.  
  
Loki released a breath he had not been aware of holding.  
  
“Yes,” said Thor, turning back to face the barista counter.  “We were eating next door. There wasn’t much point in going home.”  
  
“Okay,” said Dr. Eriksen, who had made herself oblivious to the brothers’ wordless exchange by ducking beneath the counter awhile.  It seemed there was endless busy work for her to find when she needed it. Her bright blonde head popped back up. “Sure. Why not? We can start now.”  
  
As had become typical in the short time of knowing her, there existed a disparity between word and action.  She took a towel and dried her hands, using more time than was necessary, quite obviously -- to Loki, at any rate, and now likely to Thor -- stalling.  She was too perceptive to be oblivious to the brothers’ disquiet, their drawn faces. Her movements became tense. She carried her anxiety most prominently in her fingers, either by fidgeting or locking them around whatever might be handy: a coffee mug, a steering wheel, the railing of a catwalk.  
  
Loki caught a fleeting glance in his direction, her large eyes flicking as if to size him up, but he was better than her when it came to setting his face like a mask.  She would get no read from him.  
  
“Actually, Cora,” said Thor.  “We came here early so that we could talk with you about something… unrelated.”  He was doing the footwork for the both of them, just as Loki knew he would. Thor always assumed himself to be the one in charge, even now when it was clear he did not particularly want it.  Loki had to hand it to him; his brother was brave. Occasionally, it was admirable.  
  
“Oh?” said Dr. Eriksen.  It was a word she uttered often, though less a word than a sound; it was a musical note.  A buttery _Oh,_ to acknowledge a fresh idea.  A staccato _Oh!_ to sound her surprise.  But depending on where the vowel landed in her throat, it had to potential to betray the feelings she worked so diligently to hide, divulging her pleasure, annoyance, or trepidation, without her consent.  This _Oh?_ trembled in her throat, audibly enough for anyone to pick up on, even Thor.  Even herself.  
  
She cleared her throat, as if to start over.  “What unrelated thing?”  
  
Thor glanced once more at Loki.  Had she some idea of her precarious position?  Surely she sensed the tension in the room, most of which came from Thor himself.  He was visibly in distress, and yet clearly just as determined to press through until they found themselves on the other side, wherever they might land.  His hand moved toward the photograph, their evidence.  
  
Loki frowned.  
  
Something felt off.  Thor was exactly where he wanted him to be, doing exactly what he wanted him to do, and yet, Loki’s gut twisted at the sight of him actually doing it, as though he was observing something grotesque.  Once he pulled the photograph from his pocket, Dr. Eriksen’s reaction would be set in motion, yet it was Loki who cringed.  
  
There was no time to process much about what stirred him.  His thoughts came in snippets, incomplete, but charged with instinct and emotion.  Thor might have planted more seeds of doubt than he realized. Loki did not much care about injuring Dr. Eriksen, but he knew Thor was still holding on to hope that she might come through unscathed.  
  
Yet, in spite of his misgivings, he was following Loki's lead, trusting his judgment.  At this crucial juncture, with his search for the relic at stake, Thor was chosing him for the sake of the brotherhood they shared, that they were finally learning to cultivate.  Their brotherhood was all they truly possessed, all that remained of their Asgard. The Exiled King and the Fallen Prince.  
  
Loki stepped forward.  
  
He made a quick motion with his hand and the photograph disappeared from Thor’s denim jacket, and with a second gesture behind his back, Loki looked as if he was drawing the paper from his own pocket.  If Dr. Eriksen was going to witness anyone betray her, it did far less damage to Thor for it to be himself.  
  
“This,” said Loki, taking a step to close the space between himself and the counter, holding his evidence before him.  “I came upon this photograph.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen looked at him blankly, her brows falling slowly, until their weight seemed to press her gaze down, as well.  
  
He pushed the paper toward her.  “If you would be so kind as to explain this to us.”  
  
Her hands clenched and unclenched fistfuls of her wool sweater.  Loki had noticed on more than one occasion that she did this when her palms went clammy, before she had to touch something and give her anxiety away.  He placed the photograph on the countertop. She reached forward and made contact with the faces on the image, the heat from her fingers instantly creating clouds of moisture on the glossy finish.  
  
“How did you find this?” she asked.  
  
So there was no be no immediate rebuke.  Loki had not been certain what Dr. Eriksen’s first reaction would be, other than shock.  But like on the catwalk, she when she was caught, and she smartly knew there was no sense pretending otherwise.  
  
“I went to Trondheim,” answered Loki.  
  
“How?”  When she moved, there was a detectable wobble.  Loki surmised that she had answered her own question as quickly as she asked.  “Why?”  
  
“I went because I wanted to find someone who knew you before you moved to Seine.”  
  
The color was completely drained from Dr. Eriksen’s face.  She was ashen, as if she might become ill. For all her constant apprehension, and the little tricks she employed to stave off Loki’s attention, he had still managed to take her by surprise.  But there was little satisfaction in it. She ought to have expected things to unfold similarly to this, he thought. She had done her research on him, had she not? This was merely returning the effort.  
  
She drew a sharp breath through her nose.  “Did I really hurt your pride so much that you… you felt this need to _spy_ on me?”  
  
Loki flinched.  The reminder of what she had blurted out on the catwalk, the comparison to Thor, stung more than he wanted to acknowledge.  He owed it up to old habits, they died hard, and he straightened his stance. “No, I did it because… I already _told_ you.  It was clear to me that you were withholding information.  I had no idea I would uncover a secret such as this. How could I?”  He gestured broadly at the photograph, which was still face-up on the counter, with the yellowing faces smiling up at them.  
  
Dr. Eriksen’s lifted her eyebrows high.  “We met yesterday and you figured it out as quickly as that?”  
  
“Perhaps you’re not as good at guarding your mind as you seem to think you are.”  
  
“In a _day!_ ”  
  
“As a matter of fact, _yes!_ ”  
  
Thor inserted himself into the growing din, literally thrusting a hand forward, creating a barrier.  The gesture was a tad excessive. Loki rolled his eyes. But he took advantage of the opportunity to crack his neck and dispel the building tension.  He had lost his composure, but it would not happen again.  
  
“Try to understand, Loki is perceptive.  I admit, more than I,” said Thor. “I was not happy to hear what he did, but I think he ultimately acted rightly in looking into your past, given the nature of what I have been trying to find.  And who I am.”  
  
“That’s a nice way of saying he got under your skin and you decided you couldn’t trust me.”  
  
Loki clenched his jaw.  Thor would not like that.  Perhaps Dr. Eriksen had not intended to truly strike a nerve, but he could sense his brother bristling at the idea that he could be led around by the nose.  In Thor’s defence, it was not so true these days. Loki had to put greater and greater effort into tricking his brother.  
  
Thor sighed heavily, regaining his composure.  “I want to trust you. I do.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen pursed her lips.  Loki focused all his attention on the subtleties of her reaction to Thor’s plea.  Thin veins had appeared at the corners of her eyes, the lids themselves were lined with red.  This was betrayal, not merely anger. Loki folded her appearance into his mind.  
  
“When did he tell you?” she asked  
  
“While we were next door,” answered Thor.  
  
Dr. Eriksen’s shoulders rose and fell.  For a few moments, she appeared completely lost in thought, and when she finally spoke her voice was dreamlike, thin.  “I think I would have told you, eventually. I guess I thought I had more time.” She glanced down at the photograph with her eyes alone and shook her head.  “You want answers about me? I don’t have them. I don’t have anything to tell you. I was born, I grew a little older, and I’ve never died. It’s not the easiest thing to talk about.”  
  
Her words hung in the air.  Loki narrowed his eyes.  
  
“How old are you?” asked Thor.  
  
“One-hundred-thirty-five this year,” she said, looking for a moment that she attempted to smile.  “Not as old as you probably expected. A kid compared to you.”  
  
Thor likewise attempted to chuckle, but it was not a sound Loki would call natural.  “Are you human?”  
  
“I have no idea.”  She shrugged, swallowing audibly.  Her fingertips traced the faces on the glossy paper.  The other hand moved to her face, gliding a knuckle across her lower eyelid.  “I had normal parents. They died. I had… I had a lot of things, once. It was terrifying when I realized there had to be something wrong with me.  You think you’re like everyone else, because there’s no reason not to think that, and then it… it _slices_ through you realize you’re completely different.  Maybe I am still human, but I don’t know.”  
  
Loki felt his body go cold.  And then it began to heat up, as if a furnace had been lit.  
  
It was like watching something on television, the way it played out in his mind.  
  
The younger version of himself, the literal final moments of his youth; his hands reaching toward Casket of Ancient Winters; his soul in a state of panic, but he had to know, he had to know, _he had to know...  
  
_ With sheer force of will, Loki tore himself from the claws of the painful memory, relieved that no one else in the room seemed to have noticed that his mind had traveled so far from the cafe.  He was back, now; he still had work to do. He would leave the sentiment to Thor.  
  
Loki tilted his head to see which of the people in the photograph Dr. Eriksen’s fingers lingered on the longest.  It came as no surprise that it was Dr. Breg. It was easy enough to piece together who had given her secrets away.  
  
“Damn old fool,” she murmured, affectionately, before lifting her eyes.  “I guess the three of us are on the same page, now. I still don’t know what I did that was so obvious.”  
  
“Well, to start, you never look me in the eye,” said Loki.  He had a role to keep playing in this. And they were _not_ all on the same page.  
  
He heard Thor utter his name in a low, warning tone.  No doubt he was beginning to feel that they were pushing things too far, but in reality they were just starting to get the answers they required.  Sometimes it had to hurt. Loki knew the pressure points to hit. He knew them as well as he knew himself.  
  
A splash of pink returned to Dr. Eriksen’s face.  “That’s not…” But she abandoned the protest as quickly as she started, biting down hard on her lip.  
  
“At first, I thought you were frightened of me, but…” Loki closed in, physically.  His hips met the edge of the countertop, forcing Dr. Eriksen to crane her neck and look up at him.  She was not going to shy away now that he had called her out, and he was determined to use it to his advantage.  “That isn’t so, now is it?”  
  
“Loki…” repeated Thor, more audibly.  
  
He ignored the warning.  The professor at the university had alluded to something peculiar and ominous, something that harkened back to his exchange with Dr. Eriksen on the catwalk, and he wanted information.  
  
“Your friend, Dr. Berg, seemed quite taken with my appearance, when we met,” he continued.  “Perhaps you could explain why she was so happy you had found a tall man with dark hair--”  
  
“She said what?  She shouldn’t have said anything,” protested Dr. Eriksen.  “I can’t believe she even remembers.”  
  
“I’d like to know what she meant by it.”  
  
“It was a joke between us.  It was stupid.”  
  
He stole a glance at his Thor, who had given up his attempts to shut the questioning down and now seemed interested to see where Loki was headed.   “If it’s just a joke, then why not tell me? I love a good joke.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen held his gaze without recoiling.  It was much like being on the second level of the stave, when she refused to back away from his transformation into his Asgardian ceremonial attire.  She had gone completely white then, but she had not run. She had her moments of bravery, impressive ones, once the curtain was pulled back, Loki would grant her that.  
  
“Why did it even come up?” she asked, pointedly.  It felt like a parry.  
  
Loki dipped his head, as though congratulating her on asking the right question.  “I posed as an old flame of yours.”  
  
A grim laugh burst from her throat.  “Of course you did.”  
  
“I had to give Dr. Berg some manner of story.”  
  
“You didn’t _have_ to do any of this.”  
  
Loki’s features lost all that remained of their mirth.  When he spoke, there was ice in his voice. “No. I _really_ did.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen’s eyes were completely bloodshot now, but the tears were gone; they were red from the staring alone, from not blinking.  She lifted her hands from the counter, the beginnings of a shrug that ran its course through her entire body. It signaled defeat. “I… If you must know…”  
  
She paused, moving a hand to her face, resting her palm against her forehead, as if to take her temperature.  Her cheeks had become flushed with color, her jaw so tense that it looked as if it was fighting against the words it tried to form.  For decades, her body had been her soldier, a good soldier, but now the general was giving new orders, and it was natural to doubt that the mind knew what it was doing when order was to surrender.  
  
“Ida and I, we liked to joke about this character I once… I had this dream about.”  Her brow knit. Her hand glided upward and grasped a fistful of her short, fluffy hair.  “Maybe it wasn’t a dream. We joked about it for so long, I’m sure what it was, now.”  
  
Loki scowled.  He suspected, to some degree…  No, he did not know what he had expected.  His surroundings felt momentarily surreal.  
  
“Are you saying you had a vision?”  The question came from Thor.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Of Loki?”  
  
Dr. Eriksen shook her head.  “I would never get a real look at the man’s face.”  
  
“It happened _more_ than _once?”_  Loki’s skull was beginning to ache from the pressure of the knot in his brow.  He extended a finger toward the photograph and landed on the face of the blond-headed, bespectacled man Dr. Berg had indicated when she handed it off to him.  Loki had assumed he was a character of some importance, judging by how she had clammed up when he asked questions. “I was under the impression it all had something to do with this man.”  
  
Sadness lengthened Dr. Eriksen’s features.  She released the hold on her hair and it flopped back into place.  “As a comparison, to a degree. Filip wanted to… My God, it was so long ago.  He and I were friends, but he wanted more, and I wasn’t interested. It ended up being a sad mess.  It was a hard time for both of us. Ida and I started to talk about the person from the dream, vision, whatever it was.  I helped to make us laugh when it was over. And it became like a running joke.” She paused. The shadows on her face shifted in several different directions as thoughts and memories played upon her features.  “The vision itself wasn’t funny.”  
  
“What happens in the vision?” asked Loki.  His mouth had gone dry. He was apt to believe in visions and he did not like the idea of being in those of someone he had met less than a day prior.  
  
“I’ve never told anyone except Ida…  Oh, God. It… It starts with me walking through a desert, but it’s more like a warzone.  It’s desolate. Just a total wasteland. I’m alone and I’m walking through this… It’s like a ruined field.  I’m really watching where I’m going, careful about every step. I think there might be mines that I’m trying to avoid.”  
  
Dr. Eriksen hesitated for a moment.  It may have been that she was struggling to recall the details, but Loki knew the look on her face too well.  Words begat memories, and talk was not always healing. She was in pain.  
  
“And there’s this loud wind,” she went on.  “But then I start to hear someone is shouting my name.  I look over and there’s this figure, this man, running toward me, full speed.  I guess he isn’t worried about the mines. But the wind is going absolutely wild by that point and his hair is blowing in his face -- he has long, black hair, and he’s tall.  There’s another figure behind him, but that one’s too far away to make out at all. And then I open my mouth. I think what I’m trying to do is call out his name, but then there’s this enormous rush of wind, even worse than before.  It drowns everything out. And that’s when it ends. I wake up at the same point every time it happens.”  
  
Silence filled the room like air rushing into a vacuum.  
  
Loki’s tongue had adhered itself to the roof of his mouth.  He did not need to look to the side to know the expression he would find on Thor’s face, for it would be identical to his own, brow tight and slack-jawed.  He looked sideways all the same. Thor’s eyes were already there to meet his and they wordlessly asked the other the same question.  
  
Neither one had an answer to offer.  
  
“You think the figure running toward you might be _Loki?_ ”  Thor’s voice carried the same croaking timbre of a machine grinding its gears before it became fully operational, repeating a question he had already asked.  There was an credulousness to it that Loki thought he picked up on, as well, which did not appreciate. But he made to comment. His brother took visions seriously, as well; he had seen many.  “Like… How was he dressed?”  
  
Dr. Eriksen pressed her lips together before speaking.  “Like Loki,” she answered, looking for all the Nine Realms like she was admitting it for the first time to herself.  “The way he was dressed in the photos from New York. And on the catwalk.” She turned sharply to Loki. “That was terrifying, by the way.  Thanks so much.”  
  
“Wearing his helmet?” asked Thor.  
  
“No, not with the…”  She gestured to points just over her head, curving her movements to suggest the horns Loki wore during ceremony and battle.  “When you said you were going to bring him, I looked him up, and then when I saw him in person.... It’s not easy to look someone in the face after you have a dream about them.  You can imagine.”  
  
Loki had not spoken a word in some time, nor had he moved, aside from a gliding motion he made with his fingers, rolling his thumbs in small circles.  It was, perhaps, his only tell when he was ill at ease, but his hands themselves were hidden beneath the outcropping of the counter, hidden from view of the others.  
  
His vision had glazed over with thought, his head turned slightly to the side, but Loki could feel their eyes hot on his face.  
  
He knew not what sense to make of it.   He could not picture a himself chasing Dr. Eriksen across a minefield.  He did not even _want_ to picture it.  
  
“You don’t know that it was me.”  His words were pure ice as his eyes honed in on her.  
  
“Loki...” said Thor, in that infernal mother-hen tone of his.  If his brother wanted not to be disappointed in him, then he would be wise to stop expecting the universe to behave exactly as he would have it.  
  
He turned to Thor with a shrewd twist, like that of a viper.  “What? She tells us she had a vision, of me, at this perfect moment in time, when she needs leverage.”  He laughed. “And you’re to believe it without--”  
  
“I’m not a fool, Loki,” warned Thor, sounding much more like himself.  
  
“She can’t prove any of it!”  
  
Thor ran his hands down the sides of his face, pulling at his jowls.  “Can you for once in your life listen to someone tell you the truth and think that they might _actually_ be telling the truth?”  
  
“I don’t know, Big Brother.  Perhaps if your trust in me lasted for more than a few minutes, I might learn by your example!”  
  
It escalated far too quickly, but it ended there, crashing to halt as Thor rolled his eyes.  Loki suspected that his brother must need his afternoon coffee, on which he had become so reliant.  
  
“You’re right,” said Dr. Eriksen.  “I can’t prove it isn’t just a story.  But forgetting for a moment that you _pried_ it out of me, why would I make it up?  Why would I want a dickhead like you to have anything to do with it?”  
  
Loki did not have to pull his daggers to run Dr. Eriksen though.  He did it with his eyes alone.  
  
“Do you think Ida was making it up, too?” she went on, undeterred by his death-stare.  Her tone became mockingly sing-song. “I somehow knew you were going to _fly_ off to Trondheim?  So I _flew_ off ahead of you, prepped my friend, and planted the photograph?”  
  
Loki nearly sputtered as he fired back.  “Of the two of us, I’m not the one who withheld their identity!”  
  
“No, you have been an unabashed, absolute _asshole_ from the start!”  
  
Loki bit down on hard his tongue, his body sang with much-needed release, and then it just hurt.  He would not give her the satisfaction of another word or minute of his time. If she wanted to defend herself, then Thor could stay to listen.  Seemed he had made his choice.  
  
He felt sick.  The metallic taste of blood filling his mouth made it worse.  
  
Loki pressed his lips into the thinnest of lines as he turned on his heels.  Thor had to jump to get out of the way. Through the door’s narrow window, he could see that the storm had begun unnoticed by any of them.  The ground was already soaked through. He hit the open air and was likewise drenched in a matter of seconds.  
  
The rain was freezing cold.  Loki’s feet carried him swiftly to the left, but his mind lagged, as though it was still trapped in the cafe.  All he could think was how he wanted to put as much space between himself and the damned clattering of the _kaffepause_ sign as quickly he could.  He marched.  His arms swung forward and backward with each exaggerated step, creating a wide perimeter to enclose his personal space.  More than one pedestrian crossed to the other side of the road to get away.

Finally, he turned a corner, and everything began to slow down.  
  
His brain felt utterly numb, so detached that his surroundings felt fuzzy, as if he was not truly there.  It did not even occur to him that he could transport himself far away in an instant, though thanks to Stephen Strange his only options were either New York or deeper in to Norway, and he had seen _enough_ of Norway.  No, his only thought was to keep his feet moving, pushing against the solid reassurance of the pavement, until he could think again.  
  
Thor’s voice did not catch his attention.  Nor did the sound of his running down the street.  
  
But his brother’s hand on his arm eventually did.  
  
Loki spun around, wrenching his shoulder backward and freeing himself.  “What could you possibly want?” he spat.  
  
Thor’s hair was dark from the rain, flat and matted to his head.  He looked cold. It _was_ cold, even Loki had to admit it.  Rain water ran down his brother’s nose and cheeks in thick rivulates.  Loki imagined that he looked much the same. His throat tightened.  
  
“Where are you going?” asked Thor.  
  
“Obviously nowhere,” Loki bit back.  “Not without my _handler_.”  
  
Thor reached for the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing beneath his soaking wet denim.  He pulled it up and over his head, shielding his face from the most direct rain. Shadows appeared, sinking into skin and showing off the mild angles he was slowly accumulating with age.  And wisdom, perhaps, but Loki did not have time for anything but anger just yet.  
  
“Alright.  Come on.” With a shrug, Thor started off in the same direction Loki had been traveling.  
  
Loki furrowed his brow, and nearly his entire face, as well.  “Come on, _where?_ ”  
  
“Back to the apartment?” said Thor, turning back briefly before continuing on.  “It's pouring.  Don’t know where else to go.”  
  
Loki did not move.  He stood planted and watched Thor lumber away, his massive shoulders tense from the cold.  If there was sense to be made of it, Loki’s brain may have still been too far behind his body.  
  
But he slowly fell into step beside his brother, still feeling numb, but a bit less so, because of all the places Thor might have decided to go, none of them had been back the cafe.  And certainly that meant something.  
  
They turned a corner together and their apartment came into view at the end of the steep row.  
  
“She’s right, though,” said Thor.  “You have been an asshole.”  
  
Loki squinted against the rain.  “Do you expect me to agree?”  
  
“No.  Just wanted you to know that I think so, too.”  
  
From the corner of his eye, Loki saw that Thor was smiling in the way he did when he was rather amused with himself.  It was enough to make him groan, but the impulse faded before it truly began. His brother’s presence befuddled him, but Loki was too disarmed to feel anything except relief.  
  
A beat passed.  Loki looked at him directly.  “I assume this will this make it harder for you to find your relic.”  
  
“Probably,” sighed Thor.  Lifting one of his stiff, shivering arms, he dropped a hand on the back of Loki’s neck, and gave him a single pat before stuffing it back into his pocket.  It would have been a well-timed moment to say something to the effect of _at least I still have my brother._ Or maybe outright asking if Loki was still game to help him, but Thor said nothing more about it.  
  
Loki noted a gentle tightening in his chest, realizing the question would have been rhetorical, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you're out there, I hope you'll **take a moment to drop me a comment**. Hearing from people gives me a nice idea of you being out there, reading this.
> 
> Plus, I love chatting with people. I am also on Tumblr at [mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/)


	8. Hokus Pokus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Loki did not like the idea of people having visions about him. It felt like an unfair advantage._

 

**Chapter Eight: Hokus Pokus**

 

The storm had done its work quickly.  By nightfall, the sky was pristine, like a freshly washed window to the galaxy.  The stars seemed beyond count and threads of the aurora danced above the mountains.   Noises outside peaked, as fishermen made up for lost time, and once they were done, the town went to sleep early.  And although the temperature was well above freezing, the scent of the air was so clean and crisp that one might expect to find a fresh blanket of snow on the ground.

Yes, if you happened to have faith in a sole, benevolent God who was responsible for all good things, as a confounding number of Midgardians still did, it was easy to imagine He was paying the fishing village a visit, setting things right after the violence of the thunder and lighting.  But Loki knew better.

It was dawning on eight-thirty.  Thor was already in bed, snoring loudly enough to be heard in the living room, where Loki was watching television because he knew not what else to do with himself.  Before his confrontation with Dr. Eriksen in the cafe, his mind felt as though it was on fire. Now, he simply felt burnt. 

But the coals refused to stop smoking.

He had wanted to dig up the woman’s secrets, but instead he had unearthed what felt like a monster, the way it roared in his brain.  No longer had he a puzzle to solve, but a dragon of a problem. Her _vision_.

Loki did not like the idea of people having visions about him.  It felt like an unfair advantage.  He had gone to the cafe with, as they said on daytime television, the  _tea_ , and she had thrown it back at him, turned everything upside down.  Vision  _indeed_ , Loki wanted to hiss, but he could not summon the gall.

He and Thor had discussed every possible detail of it all, once they changed out of their sopping wet clothing and Thor drank what might well have been a full pot of coffee, judging by the amount of refills to his mug.

There was no yelling, no hard words between them, but their camaraderie had not proved to be much of an advantage.  The most useful thing they produced was a list of everything they could think of to cause Dr. Eriksen’s condition.  To be accurate, it was a compilation of every race in the known universe who aged at a slow rate, or were possibly immortal.  Thor remained stuck on the idea that the woman was Aesir, but Loki was reluctant to agree that everything that appeared as though it was of Asgard, always was of Asgard.  

Likewise, they came to no long-term conclusion on how to proceed, except that they ought to sleep on it, and explore the next stave on their own.  And then Thor went to bed. Or rather, he seemed to have passed out, for the snoring began within minutes. Loki was even certain that Thor had not bothered to change out of his jeans into something suitable for bed, which Loki had done, conjuring for himself cotton “Henley” pajamas in a rich olive-y shade of green.

Comfortable as it was, it did nothing to improve his chances of getting a full night of sleep.  How his brother was able to put so much coffee into his body and _still_ manage the sleep of the dead, Loki could not pretend to know, but for the first time in a long while, he was envious of Thor.  He wished it came half as easily to turn off his brain and pass out wherever the impulse took hold.

Hence, the television.  The attention Loki paid the movie on-screen was hardly enough to make sense of the plot.  It had something to do with witchcraft and the solemnity of All Hallows Eve -- which fast-approached on the Midgardian calendar -- but it appeared to be meant as a jest.  Then again, mankind’s concept of magic was so laughably narrow, how could they be expected to produce anything other than a comedy?

Whatever the clownish witches were up to, it had become background noise while Loki’s mind turned like a millwheel in mud.

What he had was a bad headache.  Whether it was from tension or the fact that he had not truly eaten since the lunch, Loki could not guess at this point; everything just hurt.  The thought of food while his head throbbed made him doubly nauseous, but his stomach demanded that he put something into it. He and Thor spent what would have been supper discussing and dissecting Dr. Eriksen, picking at leftover turkey, but neither brother had much of an appetite at the time, and Thor had gone to bed shortly thereafter.

In the end, Loki appeased his body with cold cereal.   Thor must have gone for groceries at some point while he “napped”, for the kitchen was suddenly well-stocked.

He was seated on the floor in front of the television, balancing a bowl of müesli in his lap, forcing spoonfuls into his mouth and hoping he would eventually feel passing well enough to attempt lying down.

But when he closed his eyes, even so much as to blink, all Loki could see was the hellscape of Dr. Eriksen’s vision.  More than the headache and the roaring of his empty stomach, perhaps what truly prevented his sleep was the fear that the images would come to life in his dreams.

He wanted _nothing_ more than to discredit her, but the harder he worked his brain, the more it seemed like the impulse of a child, the beginnings of a tantrum.  Loki, without question, was heavily inclined to subvert the idea that logic was the sole, or every most useful, approach to solving a problem, but he also knew madness by the taste of it.  Ignoring Dr. Eriksen’s blunt answers to his questions felt akin to demanding supper and then throwing it across the room once it was set on a plate. It fed no one, it furthered nothing. It was tinged with insanity.

But what it might portend, this vision of him chasing her across a war zone, Loki could not begin fathom.  He hardly knew the woman.

Hm.  And now the witch on the television was singing.  Loki had not been aware that he was watching a musical production.  “What a strange movie…” he said to himself.

Loki’s spoon scraped the bottom of the cereal bowl.  There. Finished. At least he had accomplished one thing tonight.  The tight band of pain around his head was still there, but his stomach had finally grown quiet.  That was half the battle won, was it not? The fog in his brain was somewhat less, enough so that his lips quirked at the silliness on television.

His placed the bowl to the side and, unfolding from the pretzel-like position in which he had been seated for too long a time, pulled his knees against his chest.  He draped his arms over them to create a cushion and rested his forehead, tilting from side to side until he felt a stretch down the back of his neck. With a soft moan, Loki found the sweet spot, and pulled against a knot in his shoulder.

Perhaps if he did not move, he could fall asleep like this, wrapped in a ball like a cabbage.

He could still hear Thor snoring.  Hel, was it getting _louder?_

Or had he just heard someone knocking at the door?

Loki lifted his head, listening intently for the noise to repeat itself, but there was nothing.  The only sound interrupting the antics on television was the rocky vibration of Thor’s very real snoring.  A god should not sound like that. There had to be something wrong with him. But no sooner than Loki had convinced himself that the knocking was imaginary, he heard it a second time.

With some difficulty, he uprighted himself and shuffled his bare feet across the cool hardwood floor.  He wondered who it could be, visiting so late at night, and then reminded himself that it was not as late as it felt.  The polar night played tricks on the mind.

Loki opened the door, realizing fraction of a second beforehand who he would find.

And there she was.  Cora Eriksen.

Loki’s headache did not vanish, but it abruptly relinquished its exclusive claim to his attention.  The two stared at one another, with the woman looking as surprised to see him and he felt to see her, and she gave him a not-so-subtle once over with her eyes.

It dawned on Loki that he probably looked quite the mess.  After the rain, he had changed his clothes, but the air had dried the rest of him, and Loki’s hair, when left to its own devices, tended to expand.  He wished he had realized before opening the door. He would have done something about it, because employing seiðr to flatten it now, while she watched, decried more vanity than he was willing to display.  He elected to simply comb it behind his ears.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” repeated Loki, and took a long breath through lips that already hung agape.  He glanced across his shoulder, to the closed bedroom door. “Thor is asleep.”

He did not know what else to say.  Maybe it would send Dr. Eriksen back home.

“Oh,” she said thoughtfully.  A beat passed. “Can I come in, anyway?  You’re the one I actually wanted to talk to.”

Of course he was.

Loki ran his tongue over his teeth and, with a murmured “All right,” stepped aside.  She moved quickly into the apartment, as though anticipating that he might change his mind, which would not have been foolish assumption.

Dr. Eriksen was dressed exactly as she had been during the day, with the same charcoal sweater dress and blue stockings and chunky “Doc Martin” boots.  There was a long wool coat over it all, which she was in the process of removing before he turned. Her face, however, was...

Well, there was not trace of makeup, to be sure.  Loki had noticed she did not wear much to begin with: some winged eyeliner, peachy lipstick; it was subtle.  But this ruddy, scrubbed clean look brought out facets of her appearance that made her look almost younger than she had before.

He closed the door and, folding his arms across his chest, turned to regarded Dr. Eriksen from what felt like a good distance.  She balled up her coat against her chest. He did not offer to take it.

“So…”  Loki wanted to be cold, but it was a chore with the headache, and he ended up sounding fatigued more than anything else.  “What was it you came to say, Dr. Eriksen?”

She stared for a moment, and then, shaking her head, sighed.  “I came here to apologize and try to explain why I did what I did, and it would help if you didn’t make it more difficult than it needs to be.”

He stiffened, pulling back his shoulder blades.  It irritated the spot that was causing him pain, but it was not do hard to ignore.  “Do you _really_ think you deserve--”

“Loki!”  She did not quite shout his name, but it came close.  Both threw a cautious look at the bedroom door, but Thor continued to snore undisturbed.  She went on. There was a raspy quality to her voice that made it sound unnatural, as if was coming down with something, as humans did, though had Loki assumed that being undying also meant she was unlikely to catch a cold.  “You wanted me to talk; I’m here to talk. Let me say what I want to say and then I’ll go. I promise.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender and nodded, and gliding an index finger across his lips, gestured that he would keep his mouth shut.  Perhaps she would say something interesting. One did not walk through a soggy fishing village for nothing. He folded his arms again and made a show of waiting.

Dr. Eriksen breathed another sigh.  “I didn’t come to tell you that you were right for what you did.  I hate how you went about everything. I think it was cruel and uncalled for and, honestly, I’m still thinking of ways I’d like to get my revenge.”

“Hmm.”

The sound earned him a glare.  Loki did not feel that he required an apology, he did not actually care, but he wondered how she planned to get around to giving one.

“After you and Thor left the cafe, I went a little crazy.  I screamed, I broke things... And then I went home and I just… broke _down._  You forced me to talk about things I haven’t talked about in decades and think about things I never wanted to think about again.  And I was so angry at you for it. I don’t know if you know what it feels like to have all your painful memories dredged up at the same time, but it was so... _rough…_ that honestly, there were moments I thought I wasn’t going to stay sane.”

Loki drifted his tongue along the silken interior of his cheek.  It would have been easy to cut into her with a sharp retort, because this paltry idea that she had sunk to the depths of pain was laughable.  But the words dissolved in his mouth. It would have potentially put her in a position to counter that all suffering was still suffering, and there was enough truth in that to keep Loki silent.  She would only see it as taking the moral high ground, not to mention there was the remotest of chances it might lead to commiserating with her, swapping stories about scars, and he had no interest in that whatsoever.

Dr. Eriksen went on.

“But if I was in your position, and I really didn’t want to admit this to myself… I would have done the same thing.”

At this, Loki could not help but quirk an eyebrow and, at last, respond.  “As I recall, you did claim to have done mounds of research on me before my arrival.”

Dr. Eriksen clenched her teeth, looking rather annoyed that he was so determined to be, as she and Thor stated, an _asshole_ , but Loki did not care.  There were times when being a little shit served a greater purpose, but in this particular instance, he just wanted to hurry things along.

“That is the point I am trying to get to if you would let me.  When Thor told me he wanted to bring you here, I looked up everything I could find.  I read up on the mythology, the stories about New York, one amazing conspiracy theory about how you were also responsible for a least a dozen historical disasters."  She stifled a smile at that.  "It’s _not_ the equivalent, by the way, of you flying off to the university and posing as my ex-boyfriend to dupe former colleagues into giving out my personal information.”  She paused and held his stare. “But if had the opportunity and ability to transport myself to New York and pull every file on you in the Avenger’s compound, I would have done that, too.”

Through the cracked window on the far wall of the kitchen, visible over Dr. Eriksen’s shoulder, the sounds of the bay peaked.  A small gust of wind moved between the slats of the wooden blinds, bringing out a short, vaguely melodic clatter. Loki shifted his weight and cleared his throat.  “All because of the vision? Or was there another reason?”

“You mean, if I was frightened of you?”

Loki did not nod so much as tilt his chin, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Dr. Eriksen responded with a shaking of her head that was just as subtle.  Loki felt the tension in his shoulders subside, somewhat. He did not realize he had been holding them so high against his ears.

“Your picture was everywhere after New York.  That’s when I had to rule out that the dream was just a dream.  I’ll admit, it was a little hard to accept that it was you after everything… Or it was at the time.  Thor explained some of what…” she breathed tightly through her nose, “...what happened to you. Enough for me to understand it wasn’t what you expected, after you left Asgard.”

 _Left_ Asgard?  Loki lifted an eyebrow.  But Dr. Eriksen looked at him steadily and he knew at once that the circumstances of his _leaving_ were no mystery to her.  He closed his eyes and signed.  _Thor, why?_

An endless sea of stars below him, to drown him; a world of gold and majesty above, but so far in the distance that he could hardly see it now...

In releasing his grasp from the Gungnir, the great scepter of Asgardian kings, Loki rejected what promised to centuries of heartache and misery.  He would never be capable of trusting his Odin’s love -- or Odin at all -- and at the time, Thor had seemed equally lost to him.  Perhaps had his mother been there, it might have given him pause to lift his fingers from the staff, but staring up at the father and son, the true and complete royal line of Asgard, Loki came to realize his own love for himself had run dry, as well.  He had lost his family, he never had one to begin with. And his young, naive mind could only conceive one alternative, and he chose the heart-stopping beauty of the universe beneath him, _everything that was not Asgard,_ the open arms of oblivion.

No.  He did not -- would not -- care that Dr. Eriksen knew.  What did It matter?  It was no great secret to anyone, it seemed, since _the bargain_ had been struck, when he was placed under a microscope.  Every facet of his life, his mind, even his body, had been made an open book, either to prove his culpability, or disprove it.  It seemed easier to let them diagnose the various stages of his madness, the real and the assumed, so Loki put no stop to it, as much as he was compliant with anything resembling a process; he kept the gears moving, because he owed it Thor.  More than that, because he _understood_ now that his brother's love had never been lost, and letting go of the Gungnir  _might_ have really been releasing Thor's outstretched hand.

“If you want to call it leaving,” she said.  His eyebrows were still high.

She chose her words so carefully that Loki’s carved stone stare softened, slightly, around the edges.  He marveled at what seemed to be a genuine attempt to be compassionate, made all the more earnest by the mere fact that she was not a gentle person by nature.  She was poised, deliberate, hard-edged, though he detected it was in part a ruse, a shell of biting retorts and deflections she used to encase herself when she felt too exposed.

Loki caught himself, and everything tightened again.  Up went his shoulders.

“Dr. Eriksen, I am responsible for everything I did.  Let’s not shy from the truth, shall we?” His words were somehow both cold and smoldering at the same time, but Loki never could seem to feel only one way when it came to what had put him on the path to New York.  “I imagine Thor told you I wasn’t in my right mind, yes?”

“He didn’t make it sound quite that simple.”

Loki frowned.  It caused him far less grief to allow her to imagine whatever and blame whomever she chose.  Let her fill in the gaps as she saw fit.

“Do I seem sane to you now?” he asked.

“You seem angry.”

“Can’t imagine why."

“I’m honestly not trying to upset you.”

Dr. Eriksen fingered with a wooden button on her coat.  Loki watched her hand work. Her nail polish was chipped.  He pictured, for a moment, the scene of her throwing glassware across her little cafe, cheeks flushed red in the warm, glowing light; sweat damping her brow; her short hair flying as she threw herself into this alleged madness.  He attempted to amuse himself with the details, exaggerate them and make her pain silly, but it left him feeling hollow, with enough space inside to draw inwardly back on himself, like an unexpected cramp.

“Yes, I am aware that you’re not trying to upset me, Dr. Eriksen, but talking about New York isn’t something I do.  It’s...” He paused.

She tilted her head, giving him a look as pointed as it was delicate: intrigued, but wary.  Loki’s mind began to echo inside his empty self.

That was when all the bits of observation, like fabric, finally stitched themselves together.  Her face was not scrubbed clean from washing, he realized, but from crying. Dr. Eriksen’s eyes were positively swollen, her lips beestung, too much to be the after effects of a few minutes of scant weeping.  She had walked across town, in the cold which ought to have soothed it, and had already stood in the apartment for a good length of time. She should not still look the way that she did... unless Loki allowed himself to believe he had put her through far more profound reckoning than he envisioned.

He swallowed and it felt as though there were stones in his throat.  The pain he caused Dr. Eriksen should not have troubled him -- Loki had done far worse to closer friends -- but it did.  He wanted to blame his tiredness, but the truth was that he suddenly felt awake. And for the first time since going to Trondheim, Loki wondered if he had inflicted too much damage on the woman too quickly.

“Do you feel as though you’ve come back from it?” she asked.

His mind had gone somewhere far away.

“Loki?”

“Has justice been served, do you mean?”  The burning in his throat lingered. He tried again to clear it.

“No, I don’t mean justice.  I don’t even know how justice works on that level…”  She adjusted some of the folds in her crumpled coat and hugged it to her chest.

He scowled.  What did anyone expected him to feel, other than _constant_ anguish and remorse, as if he might not be capable of lifting his body under the weight of it?  That he attempted to live at all seemed an affront to their moralist superiority, if one could call what Loki had done for the past year _living_.  He was meant to be in limbo, but there were times when it felt far closer to Hel.

“Do you mean, am I _happy?”_

“I suppose I just mean _how are you_ , generally speaking?”

Loki laughed bitterly.  He could not recall anyone, except perhaps his mother, asking him such things.  Not even Thor. He showed concern for Loki’s wellbeing many ways, some of them smothering, but never by asking a direct question.  Loki did not hold this against him. He was the same. Communication, the verbal sort, was not an Odinson talent. But Thor and he were learning how to read each other in other ways, finally.  At one time, they had been quite good at it, speaking volumes to one another with little more an a flick of the eye. It had not been so long ago. Despite the dark years of late, it was more like remembering than learning.

“How am I?” repeated Loki, blinking.

“I get the feeling that you wouldn’t have done what you did to me, at least the way you did it, if you weren’t already dealing with some serious…”

Dr. Eriksen began to crack under the weight of Loki’s heavy stare, but failed to crumble.  There was a point she was trying to reach, as she moved carefully from word to word, as though, like in her vision, she was navigating a kind of minefield.

“I don’t know anything,” she said.  “Honestly, I don’t. Thor has actually been very respectful of your privacy.  It isn’t even that I want to pry, but you strike me as someone who... Like I said, I would have done the same thing to you, if I could.  Maybe you did what you did because you were already hurting before you came here.”

Loki’s heart threw itself against the cage of his chest.  His folded arms dropped to either side as he pulled in a long a breath, as deep as he could manage, filling his lungs with air, as if more room in the cavity was all he needed to calm what she had set off like a powder keg.  It failed.

“My only intention was to help Thor,” he asserted, though it sounded unconvincing now, even to him.  Loki had never truly had a sole intention about anything in his life.

Dr. Eriksen ran her tongue over her dry lips and nodded.  Loki abruptly switched the subject.

“You said you couldn’t see the man’s face,” he said, his voice wavering, perhaps too faintly to be noticed, but it nonetheless made him feel decidedly vulnerable.  “The vision. How did you know it was me.”

“Well, in my defense, your face in that famous photo was covered by that godawful muzzle, so it wasn’t as hard to put together as you might think.”

She attempted to smirk.  It went nowhere. She shrugged.

“I don’t know how, but I recognized you.  Part of it was the clothing and the hair, like I said…”  Dr. Eriksen paused and shook her head. “I can’t explain it.  I wish I could. I think you’d be more inclined to believe me if I could.”

Loki’s clenched and unclenched his hands.  Typically, it was a movement suggestive that he was plotting some manner of attack, but in this instance it was more as if he did not know what to do with them.  He touched his hips and considered resting them there, but the position felt awkward. Dr. Eriksen’s eyelids fluttered as she honed in on his body language.

Finally, he looked in the direction of the ceiling.  His heart was still vibrating to the point that the movement made him lightheaded, making his persistent headache all the worse.  “I may be more inclined to believe you than I was this afternoon,” he said, wanting to head her off at the pass, before she could ask and he had to own up to letting down his guard.

“Really?  Why?”

Loki shrugged, tucking his hands back under his arms and pressing firmly.  “It isn’t that I _want_ to believe the vision.”

She gave a brief chuckle.  “Now you sound like me.”

“I suppose it’s mostly that, for all the information you withheld, once you actually begin talking, you strike me as... a fairly honest person.”  He would concede that much. No more.

Dr. Eriksen drew back her head.  The reaction began as something subtle, sincere, and then she took the opportunity to widen her eyes for comedic effect.

Loki smiled in spite of himself.  Because he was tired. And he rolled his eyes with the same energy to match hers.  “Go on. Don’t you have a point you’re trying to get to?"

Her silly expression dwindled down to a lopsided smile.  “When Thor first showed up, I didn’t want to help him, because the connection to you was too close.  But you know him, he’s tenacious.”

Loki snorted.  “Obsessive. Pathological.”

“He kept coming in with his questions about the churches and the history of the archipelago.  He wore me down.”

“Yes, he was working me the same way in New York.”

“I gave up feeding him excuses, because I liked him and I knew I could help.  And I admit I’ve been away from the university for so long that I was starting to get bored.  And there was always…”

Dr. Eriksen abruptly directed her attention to her boots.  Loki’s throat tightened, again.

She scraped the toe of one boot against the other, a variation on her search for busy work when she needed to ground herself.  Loki heard her draw a sharp breath through her nose and, without warning, a shudder coursed through him, leaving him cold and hot at the same time.

She worked her jaw, waiting for the wave of emotion to subside, and slowly regained her footing.  “If there there was a chance that getting to know him could help me find answers about myself and what I am, I had to take the risk, even though it meant you would probably show up at some point and the vision, whatever it is, might actually happen.  I can’t go on not knowing, but that’s out of my hands, I guess. I keep going on. I’ve tested that every possible way; nothing works. I’m stuck here. I wish I could go insane, sometimes. I do. I think I tried to go insane this afternoon. Not to romanticize it, but it would make to so much easier if I was less aware.”

“Shit,” Loki whispered through his teeth, ducking his head.

Her words reverberated in his aching skull and sunk down, deeper and deeper, through his chest and into his gut.  Yearning. Desperation. He was back in Odin’s Vault, clenching the Casket of Ancient Winters with fists so tight that he might have snapped the handles.  The blue light of the Casket seeped into his skin, cold and searing at the same time, altering the musculature of his body, climbing up his arms and into his neck and finally, his face.  He could not see his face, but it had only been a matter of hours since he stared down the Frost Giants, slaughtering them beside his brother. Their visage was stamped in his mind for all time.

The memory broke like a fever and Loki found himself back in the apartment.  His vision was blurred. Even the dim lighting of the room was suddenly too bright.  Loki blinked until Dr. Eriksen came back into focus, looking at him with a most curious expression, only to have everything cloud up again, leaving him no choice but to dab his eyes in her presence.  He continued to curse under his breath, ending with an outburst of choked laughter as embarrassment gave way to admitting to himself that there was no taking it back. He would just have to accept that she had seen tears in his eyes.  Those who mistook him from the stoic brother had never bothered to look hard enough. His eyes had betrayed him countless times.

No doubt Dr. Eriksen had made the same error, for she looked as though she had no idea what to do, that she had possibly broken him by unloading too much at once.  

“Is it…”  Loki regained enough control over his body and cleared his throat.  “That you suspect you may be Aesir?”

“That’s why I came to Norway,” she said, slowly shifting back into conversation, as well.  “I came, once I was free, to go to school and follow the only clue I that I had, that my ancestry is from this corner of the world.  And I researched and I studied everything I could, trying to find _anything_ that might point me in some direction.”

“What do you mean, once you were free?” asked Loki.  He wondered if it might be too personal a question, all things considered, but still, he asked.  Besides, they were well past too personal at this point, were they not?

Dr. Eriksen swallowed.  “I just mean that I was free once there was no one left that I had any connection to.  I could go wherever I wanted. I wasn’t born into a world where it was easy for a woman to come and go as she pleased.”

He nodded soberly.

“My life hasn't gone on for centuries, yet, but I've had to start over more than once.  I… If you'll forgive me, there are still a few things I'd like to keep to myself. My personal life.  You aren't going to go digging again, are you?”

“It's doubtful," said Loki.

“Believe me,”  she said. “I wish it were easy to talk about everything.”

“You aren't alone in that.  Not in this room, anyway.” Loki took a short breath as his words hung for a moment, like something physical overhead.  “So, you came to Norway...”

“My heritage was the only clue I had, but everything turned into a dead end.  And then, just when I had about given up, the mythical god Thor Odinson shows up in New Mexico.”

She finished with her own choked laugh, wiping under her nose with back of her sleeve, and clumsily dropped her coat.  Loki stepped forward to pick it up, but she beat him to it, leaving him to stand awkwardly at a distance that felt too close, though he did not back away.  He felt planted to the floor.

Twisting his fingers, Loki produced a silken, gold cloth from what looked like his physical pocket, but was actually from a spot much, much further away.  He offered it to her.

She blinked at him.  “I can’t blow my nose into that.  It’s too pretty.”

“That’s what it’s for.”

With a shrug, he released it into her hands.  She held it as delicately as an uncooked egg before gently touching a corner her eyes.

“Oh, go ahead.  Just blow your nose.”

Her face flushed as she did so.

“Did you go to New Mexico?” he asked.

She shook her head  “No, by the time enough of the story had broken, there wasn’t anything left to see.  I tried to make contact with the group of astrophysicists he encountered, but never got any response.  And then New York happened and I saw you and honestly I... I needed a break.”

Both their voices had mellowed to a gentler lilt.  Loki was even able to hear her words about New York without bristling.  Terror had been his aim then, had it not? He would think about it later. Not now.  Not while her face was still swollen and there was some semblance of peace between them, as if passing her the handkerchief had been the beginnings of a truce.

Loki fiddled with his hands for a moment.

He turned and paced off to the side, picking up his empty cereal bowl and bringing it to the sink

“And then everything at the university began to fall apart when I was supposed to have turned sixty-five…” she said

“I can imagine,” said Loki.

“I had to start over.  Again.”

Loki rolled his sleeves up to the elbows and began washing the bowl.  The cool water sent much-needed soothing sensations up his arms. For a moment, he did not scrub anything, he just let his hands soak and watched the water run off, taking what felt like his first complete breath in close to an hour.  “I suppose you must believe in fate, now. You can’t reach Thor, but still he stumbles into your cafe. And me shortly thereafter.” He looked over his shoulder with a sly smile, his intent being, quite honestly, to make her laugh. “Me, the man of your dreams.”

She did laugh.  It pleased Loki to hear it. It was like a thaw in the room.

“Jeez, what can I safely say to that?” she said, her smile lingering.  As Loki finished washing the bowl and shut the tap, she cleared her throat.  “Do you mind... I could use a drink.”

Loki shrugged.  “No trouble,” he said, turning the tap back on and trying to recall which cabinet had the glasses.

“No, I’m sorry.  I meant an actual drink, if there’s anything around -- before I go back out into the cold.  If it isn't too weird to ask.”

“Ah.”

Loki shut the water off, again, and turned to the island in the center of the kitchen.  The previous night, he had discovered a bottle while exploring the apartment. It was tucked into a corner and he suspected it was not very good, given its cakey coating of dust.  As he popped up, bottle in hand, Dr. Eriksen’s reaction confirmed that it was not a liquor known for its good points. Loki imagined it had been given as a gift, to a previous occupant who predated Thor, and never touched after the first sip.

He twisted hard at the cap and gave the brown liquid inside a sniff.  Immediately his nose felt as if someone had plugged it with a lit match.  “Hm.  Do you enjoy gasoline?”

“I’m willing to drink it if that’s all you have.  It's freezing out there.”

“Oh, you are in a bad way, aren’t you?”  Loki chuckled. His sense of smell was still recovering when an idea came to mind.  “I might have something else… If I can remember where I put it.”

Loki placed the bottle to the side and closed his eyes, taking a breath to center himself.  His fingers began to draw tiny shapes in the air, and behind his eyelids, the raised circle of his iris moved gently back and forth.  And then, with a smile and a flick of the wrist, there was a shimmer of light, and an exquisite bottle made of purple glass appeared between his palms.  It was no bigger than a cask, with an ornate gold cap.

Dr. Eriksen looked as though she had just been shown proof of Santa Claus, or some similar Midgardian nonsense.  They also pretended to believe in a giant rabbit with the ability to lay chocolate eggs, as well.  Though, ridiculous as it was, Loki considered that character far more charming and would not have minded of it turned out to be real.

Loki removed the cap and, fetching glasses, two of them, from the cabinet, poured some of the liquid into each.  It was clear in color and smelled of juniper. She shifted her coat to hold in under one arm and picked up her glass, bringing it straight beneath her nose.  “Is it gin? _Asgardian_ gin?

“Similar,” said Loki.  “But stronger. So, don’t drink it as quickly as my brother does.”

The liqueur did not have to be cut with anything, as gin typically required.  It went down smooth as sweetened tea. Loki had tucked the bottle away so long ago that he forgot to expect the drink’s honeyed flavor, and it brought him actual joy to rediscover it.  The true name of the liqueur was Juniper Cheer.  Memories of autumn in the royal gardens came up for air in the deep waters of his mind. Why the drink was always associated with that time of year, Loki had never asked, but was as tied to falling leaves and strolls at dusk the same way spiced wine was a facet of winter.

He could recall a few of the details of the night when he brought this particular bottle along, with secret plans to meet the daughter of one his mother’s ladies, only to find the girl had invited her brother along to chaperone, and the bottle was never opened, tucked away, and mostly forgotten.  Loki had never attempted a second meeting with the girl, whose name had also slipped from his memory. However, he had recalled the bottle from time to time and taken the occasional sip, but it had been centuries since the last time.

The memory was fairly amusing now, the idea of him giving up as quickly as that, but in his youth he had been skittish of stories getting back to Odin.

Loki leaned forward against the island, propping himself up on his elbows.  He peered into his glass as though if he looked hard enough, he just might see a familiar face.

“Wow,” said Dr. Eriksen, after savoring her introduction to the drink.  “This is great.”

He lifted his eyes.  “Alcohol keeps well, suspended in time.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

They drifted back into silence as they took their second sips.  Dr. Eriksen’s eyes slowly moved to the side, as though she was losing herself in her own long-forgotten memory.  A pleasant one, it seemed, the way a smile bloomed on her face. And then her eyes moved back to Loki.

“Are you watching Hocus Pocus?”

Loki squinted.  “What?”

Dr. Eriksen turned and walked briskly into the living area of the space, planting herself before the television.  Loki followed, taking a place beside her. The witches had been up to their antics for their entire conversation, it had just been easy to tune out.  He took another sip from his glass. “Is that what it’s called?”

“It’s Halloween movie season,” she said.  “This is an old children’s film.”

“Well, I had a headache and it was distracting.”

 _Had_ a headache.  It seemed to be gone.  He turned his head from side to side to test the theory.  Indeed, the knot in his shoulder had resolved itself, possibly due to the drink, though he could not recall when he stopped paying attention.

“No, it’s a classic,” she said.  “I would have left it on, too.”

They stood together, watching the movie as they drank.  By this point, there was manic business going on in a graveyard.  Loki had no idea what had brought everyone to this point in the story, but the stakes seemed high.  There were children being lured to the witches’ cottage by a song.

“And this is popular among your little ones?” he asked.  He took a step backward and his leg touched the sofa, prompting him to sit down, though it was a little like he briefly lost his balance.

Dr. Eriksen nodded.

“But… aren’t the witches trying to _eat_ the children?”  That he found it disturbing registered distinctly in his voice.

She shrugged, as if to admit that he had a point.  “Well, Halloween is Halloween is Halloween.  It's only three days away.”

Dr. Eriksen finished what remained in her glass as the storyline broke in a poorly-timed spot for commercials.  She moved as if to hand it off to Loki, thinking he was still beside her, and then clumsily turned to pinpoint where he had ended up. Her eyes kept moving after she spotted him, like someone with a case of vertigo, and she blinked until everything appeared to straighten out once again.

Loki admitted he was feeling the effects of the drink himself, more than he expected, and wondered if he poured them both too much.  Misgrdian alcohol forced one to drink far more to reach the same point. Had he gone by the wrong standards?

Ah.  Yes, he recalled that the liqueur was meant to be enjoyed in a cordial flute, not a highball.  That was probably the issue. There was still plenty left in his glass, but Dr. Eriksen had finished hers.

“You weren’t kidding.  This is stronger. Er, strong,” she said, attempting to place her glass on the coffee table and misjudging the distance, letting go of the thing before it touched the wood and causing a clatter.

Loki pressed his lips together and squinted at her before finishing his glass, too.  “You look like you need to sit down.”

“I do need to sit down,” she replied.  She did not, however, move.

Loki regarded her hesitation the way one might regard a clock, watching it tick.  He gestured graciously to the other end of the sofa. “You can sit down.”

“I was going to walk home.”

Loki nodded, sounding a thoughtful hum.  He pointed a finger at her. “Why not... sit down until you feel you can walk home?”

Dr. Eriksen nodded emphatically.  “That’s a good idea.”

She circled quickly to the other side of the table and sat on the cushion beside Loki, pushing herself deeply into the corner of the sofa, as if it to support herself from both sides.

“We don’t need you falling into the bay,” he said.

“Oh God, can you imagine?”

“I can,” he replied.  “And you don’t have to call me by my title unless you’re actually praying.”

Dr. Eriksen snorted.  “I don’t know if you realize, you are much less intimidating in your pajamas.  Actually… this is probably weird of me to notice, but I’m half-drunk, so bear with me, but I’m sort of shocked to see you have feet.”

“Have _feet?_ ”  Loki’s response fell somewhere between bright and alarmed.  “In place of what?”

“You’re always wearing all the clothes,” she replied.  “Completely covered. You’ve even got you sleeves rolled, now.  I can see your arms.”

He blinked.

“You know what I mean.”

“Talk about sizing someone up in a day,” he said, a callback to their heated argument in the afternoon, but he was far too entertained and it showed.  Loki touched his hands to the center of his chest. “I assure you, I have a complete body under here.”

“Forget I brought it up.”

“I mean it.  Belly button and everything.”

Her cheeks went pink as she finally laughed at herself.  The commercial break ended and the story resumed, they lapsed back into silent viewing.  Loki lifted his legs and stretched them over the coffee table, leaning back. He was not much of a drinker, but after the long day with its downs and ups, he was a wonderful thing to feel relaxed, even if it was chemically induced.

“Would it be too much to ask you call me Cora?” she said, at the start of the next commercial.  “Every time you call me Dr. Eriksen, I feel like I’m back in Trondheim. That is, if we’re going to keep looking for Thor’s relic, working together.”

Loki turned toward her.  Her face, rather serious, was still pointed at the television.  “If you’d prefer that. In my defence, it _was_ how you introduced yourself.”

“That was just a bit of fun,” she said.

He quirked a smile and turned back to regard a particularly loud commercial, and then, turned back to... _Cora._ Were they friends, now?  “Are you still planning to get revenge on me?”

“If I say no, it’ll ruin your belief that I’m an honest person.”

Loki wrinkled his nose.  “I’ll keep my guard up, then.”

“I get the feeling it usually is.”

He sighed.  “It is. It’s tiring.”  Even now. That he was half-serious tinged his playfulness with a few drops of melancholy.  Loki would still call himself relaxed, but his mind had come back to life with a tiny spark, and it dawned on him that he was attempting to recall something forgotten.

His eyes pointed toward the kitchen.  He pulled his top lip between his teeth and frowned.

And then, Loki realized what it was.  He gave Cora a final look, more than a glance, debating with himself over whether he really ought to retrieve what had come to mind.  Did he owe her anything more than the symbolic white flag of the handkerchief? Loki still felt rather divided, for her secret had been no small thing to keep.  He would have -- might have -- done things differently, had he the opportunity to do them over, but was it possible to make up for a crime already committed? To that question, his answer had always been a firm _no._

He could give her something just for the sake of giving her something.  That impulse was far simpler.

“What?” she asked.  He had stared too long.  Because the drink was making him tired and slow.

Loki rose to his feet.  The floor dipped to the side, reminding him that he was, possibly, a bit closer to drunk than he was willing to admit. “I should give you something.”

He walked to the kitchen, disappearing behind the barely-there partition that separated the space from the television-viewing area, and reappeared with a piece of paper in his hand.  With his free hand, he made a tiny gesture with his fingers. The paper shimmered for a second. Cora lifted her eyebrows high.

“That was just me changing it to a language you could read,” he explained.

Cora’s befuddled expression remained fixed as he pushed it into her hands.

“What’s this?”

“Thor and I compiled a list,” he said, returning to the sofa.  He sat down beside her, pointing to the words as she read them.  “These are the known races who live an inordinate number of years. We wrote it for our own purposes, but…”

Cora moved a hand to her mouth, murmuring the words against her fingertips.  She arrived at the bottom of the list and looked at Loki. She was breathless.  The intimacy of it all caused his stomach to clench. He had expected her to be happy, but he had not given thought to what it would be like to watch someone fill with joy to the point of near bursting.  Had he any experience to relate to this glow he had brought to her eyes? Had he truly put it there himself?

“You were right,” he said, nodding.  “We can help you figure out what you are. I'm certain Thor would agree--”

Before Loki finished, Cora threw her arms firmly around his neck.  He went completely rigid, and blisteringly hot, fingers balling to fists and not relaxing until she released him.

“You’re welcome.”  Loki shuffled to the other side of the sofa.

“I'm sorry, if I start bawling my eyes out,” she said.  Her eyes were locked on the paper, tracing the words with her fingers.  “I’m a bit inebriated.”

Loki pressed his lips together and nodded.  “Mm hm.”

“And sorry if hugging you was...  It's not my typical--”

Loki shook his head, parting his lips to squeak out a brief, “It’s fine.”

She did not sob, at least he heard nothing.  Loki elected to firmly closed his eyes and give himself over to what remained of his relaxed state from the liqueur.  In the end, he did not see a war zone, only the lights from the television scattering random blooms and shapes. At some point, the movie ended, and at some point, Loki was at last pulled into a sleep that was blessedly dreamless.  His head fell back over the top of the sofa, the lines in the face softened, and he snored lightly... nothing like the sounds his brother made.

And before Cora could muster the energy to walk home, she too succumbed to sleep from the effects of the drink, though not immediately after Loki.  She folded herself up in the corner of the cushions, reading the list again and again, giving the reposed God of Mischief long, wide-eyed stares, until her eyes grew too heavy to look at anything at all.

And eventually, thought still well before dawn, Thor emerged from the closed room.  Loki had never come to bed, and he was half-panicked that he would find the apartment empty, as well.  Instead, he stumbled upon the strangest of all possible tableaus and gaped open-mouthed, wondering just what the fuck had happened while he slept.


	9. Cora

**Chapter Nine: Cora**

 

Cora did not know when, exactly, Loki had drifted off to sleep.  His eyes were closed for a long time before his breathing turned to raspy, even pulls.  It was more snore- _like_ than snoring, if the comparison to the rock-grinding sounds coming from Thor’s bedroom were to be made, which seemed fair, as apparently all that separated them was an atrociously thin wall.

It was a pretty flat, though - very stylish, very modern.  She had been there once before, but only briefly. She and Thor tended to conduct all their work in the cafe, where the coffee and snacks were never more than few feet away.  Thor was fairly open about the caffeine addiction he had developed, and she knew she was an enabler.

It could not have been too late, but Cora was struggling to remember what time it was when she set out for the apartment.  She watched the end of Hocus Pocus, though her attention was drawn over and over to the list in her hands. At some point, she glanced in Loki's direction and noticed that the tightness in his brow had melted away.  Up till then, he looked as though he was actively trying to bring on sleep through sheer force of will, which should have been counterproductive, but she had misjudged his stubbornness -- which was stupid of her, she thought, after everything.

If seeing his bare feet had made him a bit less intimidating, observing him in repose would not turn back the clock, and Cora suspected Loki might not like that.  She knew she ought to make her exit, ought to have left long ago.  It was completely inappropriate of her to still be in the flat while both brothers slept, one of them totally unaware that she was there at all.  But her brain was half-soaked in Asgardian alcohol and her judgment was not what it might have been, made all the worse by the fact that Loki flinched when she so much as adjusted her legs. Rising from the sofa, Cora was convinced, would rouse him completely, and she did not think he deserved that, after hearing her out and...everything else.  There was a lot to unpack.

She was  determined to leave, soon, but she would to give him until he entered a deeper sleep.  Until then, she would keep rereading the list. Loki had done something to enchant the writing, making it legible to her eye, but it left intact two distinct hands.  The majority of it she recognized to be Thor’s, whose penmanship was exactly what one would expect of him: uniform and a bit elegant, with unbroken, steady pressure; a prime example of a dying art.  Loki’s, too, was a kind of self-portrait, in that no two letters that were meant to match actually did. It was a slanted, flourishing hand. His words were small and tight, transforming what might have been loops into slashes, as if he was guiding a knife rather than a pen.  The characterization should have caused more disquiet than it did. Cora found it a little endearing, a realization which cost her a moment of stern consternation, that she might have been far too comfortable in the company of someone who was, on paper.

She shook her head.  No, she did not feel unsafe in his presence.  Cora would leave it at that.

But just because she could read the words, it did not mean she could understand all of them, or even most of them.  The first was easy: _Aesir_ .  Thor had written that.  And directly below, in Loki’s violent penmanship, was _Human._  After that, his additions were not quite so angry-looking.

Some of the peoples were too alien-sounding to build a visual concept; their names amounted to a collection of letters with too many consonants.  Others carried overtones that a human could easily grasp, like the ethereal-sounding _Celestial._  But that had been crossed out.  By whom, Cora could not tell. Apparently they had come to a consensus on that one.

When Loki woke, she would have to ask him what the peoples were like.  Perhaps he needed her help to narrow it down.

She would ask Thor, too, of course.  She would talk about it with both of them.  Tomorrow afternoon. It was just that Loki had been the one to put the paper into her hands, and the gesture seemed to go beyond a simple peace offering.  He could just as easily as not have brought to the list to her attention, and knowing him, a least as much as Cora could after two days, she believed he was probably tempted to keep it to himself.  But he had still given it to her.

Cora smiled as she thought about how startled he looked when she threw her arms around him, even though she had only stolen the quickest of glances.  She was fairly embarrassed with herself for doing it, and blamed the alcohol. More clear in her mind was how she felt him tighten like a cord of wire, stretched as far as it could go.  It was a little funny.

She looked down at herself, wondering if she was capable of gracefully untangling from the pretzel-shape she had managed to form.  Lifting one leg to straighten out the other revealed that her foot had fallen asleep. Her Doc Martens were too snug around the ankles to put her weight on top them like this; she was all pins and needles and it hurt.  But her foot's sleep proved itself far deeper than Loki's as he made a rattled, choking sound when she attempted to shake it out.

Cora froze, keeping her eyes sidelong on his face.  Waiting. Would he wake?

Loki snorted, as though there really was something trapped in his throat.  It was not a dignified sound for a prince, nor was he in an especially princely position.  His head had rolled back over the top of the sofa, creating an extension in his neck that looked uncomfortable.  It forced his jaw to fall open, drawing the hollows of his cheeks downward, elongating every line of an appearance that was already a collection of long lines and acute angles.

Slowly, his startled expression thawed and Loki went back to looking as if he was asleep.  Cora carefully pushed herself back into the cushions in the opposite corner and attempted to make herself comfortable, and for the most part, succeeded.  Apparently, she would have to keep waiting, though she was starting to wonder if letting him stay asleep was worth so much effort. Did he really deserve it, she wondered, and the answer was probably _no,_ he didn’t, all things considered.  But...

Deserve or not deserve?  She was no great fan of thinking that way.  It demanded too much justification for the randomness of life, and she had always been, at heart, more scientist than sentimental.

Cora yawned.  She considered herself a bit fortunate that she had never really been inclined to think people deserved this or that, especially herself, or she truly would have fallen prey to insanity long ago.  It was the one bit of luck she ever possessed, having the resources to process the rest of what she had been dealt. Not that it had all been shit. A lot of it had been very good. Some of it had been beautiful.

Loki was very still, now.  Aside from Thor’s snoring and the flashes of the television screen, everything was still and silent and it seemed much later than it actually was.

It amused her that he and Thor looked so starkly differently from one another, regardless of not sharing blood.  They made a striking pair, and were so obviously aware of it that they enjoyed toying a bit, as though they were trying to outdo one another in accessorizing their individuality.  Loki was objectively the more fashionable, even in his pajamas. ...Not that she had ever seen Thor in whatever it was he wore to bed. She just doubted it matched.

All right.  Loki seemed fully asleep, at last.  Cora squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, fighting to rouse herself, because her body had begun to feel very heavy.  She gave her foot, which still tingled, a little shake to see if Loki would react. He did not.

She would allow him a few more minutes, just to be certain.  He looked too peaceful. Children looked that way when they slept.  Little babies. Maybe she did think he deserved something, after all, even if it was just a night’s rest.  It made her the slightest bit brokenhearted to know how tense his face would become once his eyes were open to the world.

Cora’s lids moved down and up, this time more gently.

There was something about him that was generally difficult to look at for too long.  Or there had been. It occurred to her that it was not so challenging at the moment, possibly because she was half-intoxicated, but she preferred to think it was because everything seemed to be out in the open --  or enough of it was. Loki was right to call her out for not meeting his eye. Or if not _right_ , at least he had been correct, because there was something that kept pushing her gaze aside.  A _something._  It had nothing to do with his face in and of itself.  Cora wished she could have been less obvious about it, but maybe that was an impossible task, given the baggage of the vision and what happened in New York.  But really, _the something_ had more to do with the way he looked at her, not what it was like to look at him.

Except… Those were one and the same thing, actually.

Cora rested her cheek against the velvety sofa cushion.  Her soggy brain was trying to piece together a metaphor, now.  To look at Loki was like looking in a kind of mirror, not in a sentimental sense, and certainly not because he was some kind of kindred lost soul, but…

Well, there was probably something to be said for being able to cry together and drink together and then passing out on the sofa watching children’s Halloween movies…

Her eyes fluttered open.  Cora did not know for how long they were closed.  For a fraction of a second, she might have even been dreaming, because she was fairly certain she heard Loki say something, but he was still fast asleep.  Maybe it had just been the television.

The sensory minutiae of the living room warmed her where she had gone cold from sleep and her eyes landed on the bottle of Asgardian gin still standing on the kitchen island.  Her gaze moved to the empty glasses on the coffee table. And then, they moved to Loki, with his ceiling-turned, pointed nose, chin, and Adam’s apple. Her eyes shifted downward, to his bare arms and feet and the downy hair on each.  He looked much more man than god, so vulnerable and unselfconscious.  Still prince-like, in an undeniable though undefinable way.  He looked more regal than Thor. 

She took a long pull of air through her nose.

Looking at Loki was like looking into a mirror, not because you saw yourself in him, but because he could not turn his eyes upon you without projecting how he was sizing you up.  Thor had called it being perceptive, but that did not do it justice. lt was much more like a kind of Sherlock Holmes-esque mentalism. He could take you apart, pry free everything of significance, and put you back together, conquered.  It was as unnerving as it was spectacular to witness, even when on the receiving end. Especially when on the receiving end.

But all of it was on the surface, a talent Loki seemingly liked to show off, while everything else about him remained shuttered to the world.  This ability to dismantle you, you were meant to notice it, be thrown by it, like a kind of preemptive attack. A warning. It had taken too long for Cora to realize just what, exactly, he was threatening to do to her.  But it had not taken quite so long, after it was done, to understand why he felt so compelled to go to Trondheim. It struck her, like lighting in the midst of her emotional disarray, and everything that had fallen apart started to come back together.  She could not think of him the same way, afterward. It was what had brought her to the flat.

Loki had caused her nearly indescribable pain.  The only word that came close was that it was like fire.  But she could not deny that she was relieved now that she had passed through to the other side.  It was like giving birth. The secret could finally become something different after such a long time of being curled inside her, though it had always been much more snakelike and childlike.  She was glad to see it like an observer for once.

Cora shifted her weight against the back of the sofa, freeing an arm so that she could place it comfortably over her chest.  Blinking seemed to take longer and longer. The sounds of the television were growing distant.

Loki seemed to distrust the entire universe.  Maybe it was half-imagined, like Thor tacitly implied, these injuries that Loki could recount, but Cora had her doubts, and simple mathematics suggested that which was was half-imagined was probably half-real.  He had entered the coffee shop already deep in the middle of his argument with her, because the truth was that he was constantly at war, with everything. With himself, too, she was certain after tonight’s conversation.  Like a soldier, or more accurately a soldier of fortune, he had never come home from the war, from New York. And as for his home, well, that was gone, too, wasn’t it?

Loki even seemed to be partly engaged in battle with Thor, which Cora thought strange, considering how much love was strongly evident between them.  He seemed to take shots wherever he saw openings, at Thor or otherwise; she had been an easy target at such close proximity. And his finger was always on the trigger, anyway.  It had just taken her a little time to notice how the finger trembled.

He was shell-shocked.

It was just that Loki had gotten so good at hiding it, layer after hardened layer, that after so many years, it was clear that he was just trapped -- and yet she wondered how often people took the time to actually take a good look at him.  She had pieced together enough to understand that Thor was one of the few people able to do it, and more importantly, that Loki allowed it. This was even before Loki accompanied him to Seine. There were times when Thor spoke of his brother and his eyes took on a faraway gaze, slick with fear.  Cora pressed him, but not firmly; the look frightened her somewhat. He admitted to having concern for his brother’s health, but she did not understand until she met the man. She did not _fully_ understand until this afternoon.

Maybe it was still wrong to have put the pain he caused her aside so quickly.  Even as she walked to the flat, the chill of the night air gave life to second and even third thoughts.  And then he was determined to keep being so infernally difficult. Forth thoughts.

She had not come to _fix_ him.  Her decision was not borne out of some kind of misguided maternal instinct or pride.  But Thor had shown her, unconsciously, how to reach his brother, and Cora wanted to try.  She could lay her cards on the table and give him an opportunity to see her not turn away from his gaze.  And she could forgive him.

Initially, it was clear that all she had done was confuse Loki, and he since he hated being confused, he fought back.  More than once, it seemed hopeless, and Cora again wondered if she had been an idiot after all. The moment his tears broke through utterly shocked her.  It was like watching a rock crash through a glass window. He flushed crimson with embarrassment and she was scared that she had done some horrible damage to him.

But then, he looked so utterly relieved in realizing there was no going back, no fixing what was in pieces at her feet.  That was the turning point, their give and take shifting dramatically. Organically. He offered her his handkerchief. In giving her the Asgardian gin, he had willingly shared a hidden part of himself.  And in giving her the list, he had shown her his kindness.

Loki had done all of those things, and they seemed to occur to him so effortlessly.

Even now, he could have gone into his bedroom and left her to sober up on her own; she would have understood, but it was kind of him to sit with her.  It seemed they were both guilty of lingering too long.

Her eyes were closed now.  They had been so for some time.

Cora fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, generally speaking, if you think something has a double meaning, you're probably right. Don't want to explain all my metaphors, but if it moves like a snake and stabs like a snake, it's probably a snake. And if you wonder just WHY someone might be making a particular connection... You're on to something. Won't say any more than that, though.
> 
> I was really happy to finally be able to go into Cora's mind and her impression of everything that's happened. There were a lot of moments up till now where I wanted to get into exactly how she felt, but I couldn't for obvious reasons.


	10. Morgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers. Muesli. Interlopers.

 

**Chapter 10: Morgen**

 

Loki woke to the gravely cacophony of Thor clearing his throat.

Something heavy shifted beside him.  He opened his eyes with a start, believing himself to be in bed, and apparently not alone.  His mouth was sour with the residual pungency of stale alcohol. With a second jolt, Loki twisted his attention and his body sideways, where he discovered Cora in the process of jumping to her feet.

But this was not the bedroom; it was on the living room sofa where they found themselves, several feet apart.  Thor stood on the far side of the coffee table, wearing his jeans from the day before and not much else. From the waist up he was bare, with his thick arms extended, palms upturned in a gesture that could only be interpreted as, _What the hell is going on?_

It was early morning.  Though still dark, due to the polar night, the sky on the other side of the window was clear.  The local news was playing on the television.

Loki realized what must have happened.

With a groan, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbed, _hard_.  It felt like there was sand along the edges of his lids.  From there, his hands dropped into his lap. “I guess we fell asleep.”

His words were directed at Cora, but Loki could not quite bring himself to look at her.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stockinged legs wobble, and she locked her knees.

A thick knot had taken shape between Thor’s eyes.  “What do you mean, you _fell asleep_?  What happened?  Why is… Why...?”  His voice had risen a full octave.  He tended to go squeaky the closer he neared to stammering.  Typically, the sound was hilarious to Loki, but at the present moment, with all of its awkward particulars, it passed by underappreciated.

“We, um…” Cora tried to speak first, but her throat sounded as if someone had been clawing at it from the inside.  She started coughing.

Loki cut in, gesturing to the television.  “We were watching a movie.” It as the truth, after all; they had passed out without switching it off.

Thor was already turning to take in the whole of the space.  There were a few clues scattered about as to what happened while he slept, most of them incriminating, such as that both the dusty whiskey bottle and fine Asgardian flask were standing tall on the kitchen island.  There were empty glasses on the coffee table, as well, but Thor did not comment on any of it, perhaps because the blinking television bolstered their innocent alibi.

Not to mention the fact that Loki and she were both fully dressed and had been sleeping with a at least meter of space between them.  Taken altogether, it was far more silly than sensual, minus the fact that his head felt like it was in an iron vice.

Thor came to a stop, facing them once again.  He looked no less confused than before.

Loki sighed.  “Cora came over because she wanted to _talk_.”

The scowl that knit Thor’s forehead parted and softened.  

Cora gave her throat another clearing.  “And apologize for not being upfront about myself.”

Her words hung in the air, a prologue to a chapter she had read to Loki the night before.  His eyes caught Cora’s. The two exchanged the briefest of glances and the muscles of his gut tightened with an unexpected clench.  He knew it was as plain to her as it was to him. They would have to share everything with Thor, soon, perhaps imminently.

Loki pointed his face to the floor, his eyes moving back and forth as though he was actually reading words on a page as he thought.  She had to be dreading it. He was certain she would see it through, regardless.

It would probably be easier the second time, would it not?

Loki brought his hands together, tracing his thumbnail along the creases of his palm, applying pressure until he felt a scratch.  He frowned and looked up.

Already, they had both gone too long without saying more.  Thor’s shoulders dropped, lead by an audible sigh. He looked as if he was turning over a thought in his mouth, chewing on his words.  He rubbed his temple and his hand moved up as though to pull back his hair, but his fingers slipped through the short strands.

“Would you be opposed to filling me in?” he asked.

“Of course not,” said Cora, quickly.

Loki cast another glance in her direction.  She had moved her legs further apart, fortifying her stance against the persistent, though nearly imperceptible wobbles.

The muscles in his gut tensed again.

No one spoke right away.  Thor’s attention moved back and forth; Cora looked at Thor; Loki scowled into his open palms.  He sniffed the air. It was sharp with saltwater. And then he nodded to himself.

Slowly, Loki began to lean back until he felt his shoulders touch the cushion of the sofa and, resting his hands between his parted knees, he caught his brother’s attention with a quick motion of his finger.  Thor blinked. Loki flicked his eyes from Thor’s face to his chest, and with a swift jerk he tipped his head in the direction of the bedroom door.

Thor looked down at himself and seemed at last to realize that he was half-naked.  His hand grazed his chest and he turned. “Let me grab a shirt…”

Bait, taken; Loki kept his face still.

Thor vanished into the darkness of the unlit bedroom.

At last, Cora sat down, cupping her palm against her forehead.  “Oh my god. I’m so hungover,” she admitted in a husky, far from sultry, whisper.  Loki took a thorough look at her for the first time since waking. Her hair was folded at a silly angle, her lips were swollen, a fabric pattern was pressed into the skin of one cheek, both of which were flushed with a splotchy pink.

With a meager nod, Loki swallowed.  Everything in his mouth was thick and sticky.  “I’m feeling it, too. I shouldn’t have poured so much.”  They’d taken the equivalent of six pours in one sitting; if _he_ was hungover, _Cora_ must have felt near to death.  They both laughed, grimly.

And then he paused for a second, knowing they had very few to spare.  The polar night meant that the sky would be black for a few more hours and it felt as though they were still in the midst of their late-night conversation.

“What do you want me to tell him?” he asked, lowering his voice to match hers.

She frowned.  “You?”

“I don’t see any reason why you should have to stay.  Go home, get some more sleep. Something to eat would probably be advisable.”  He almost smiled and, taking a pause, lowed his voice to a sheer whisper. “I’ll talk to Thor.  Come back later.  Or, if you prefer, we could meet at the cafe.”

“Oh, no.  I couldn’t.”  Cora shook her head.  “I appreciate it, but I wasn’t planning that you would have speak for me.  I was going to do it”

Loki tilted his head.  It was nearly frustrating, this latent nobility of hers.  “I know,” he said. “But you don’t _have_ to.  Do you understand?”

Her eyelids fluttered.

In the bedroom, Thor’s muffled footfalls were growing more clear.  Loki’s jaw tightened. He allowed himself a second to think, and then he placed a firm hand on her shoulder.  “You don't have to put yourself through that again.  I can tell him.”

Cora looked at Loki with an expression that was blank on one side, and fathomless on the other.  Her mouth quivered. Loki pulled back his hand and ran it down the fabric of his pajamas, across his stomach, and not taking her eyes from him, she tentatively reached for her coat.  It was balled at her feet. She gathered it up and pushed her arms through the sleeves and stood. Loki rose alongside her. His legs gave their own wobble.

“You can tell him all of it,” she whispered, working the coat’s oblong wooden buttons.

Thor reentered the room and Loki leaned back to regard him.  He returned to the same spot he had occupied before, on the far side of the coffee table.  He did not seem surprised to see Cora on her way out. In a few steps, she was at the door, though Loki suspected she feared walking any less directly would result in falling over.

He silently picked up the highball glasses they had emptied before passing out.  The door opened and closed again. She shuffled heavily across the wooden porch in her chunky boots and down the stairs and then Loki could not hear her anymore.  His shoulders sank as he finally gave in to his physical misery. With his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Thor grunted.  It communicated more than one might expect, though Loki was fluent in his brother’s guttural musings.  This particular sound had a question mark at the end.

“I suggested to her that we meet up later,” replied Loki.  "I'll do the filling in."

Thor gave a nod.  “Mind if I put on coffee?”

“Not at all,” said Loki.  He secretly considered having a cup himself, such was the fog in his head.  He was fairly nauseous on top of it all, now that he was standing.

Thor walked across the long threshold that ambiguously separated the living area from the kitchen.  He paused in front of the island, squinted his eyes, and reached for the pretty Asgarian flask, though his fingers stopped just shy of touching it.  He pointed. “I assume this is yours.”

“I’ve been carrying it around with me, yes.”

“Hmm.”

Loki moved past Thor.  He did not want to talk about the flask, or the drinking, or any of that.  The longer he thought, the less he looked forward to talking at all, but there was no escaping it.

He could feel his brother’s eye follow him, feel him gearing up to something.  It made Loki’s neck hot. He placed the glasses in the sink and turned on the tap to rinse them out.  One of them he filled to the brim with water and drank it down. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Thor was facing him directly, with his arms folded high across his chest.  He looked far too merry. His cheeks were pink from a grin he was very poorly hiding.

With a resigned sigh, Loki shook his head.  The collar of his pajama shirt felt rough against the heat spreading down his neck and into the space between his shoulder blades.  He filled the glass a second time and turned around. “Just say it.”

“So… You and Cora slept together.”  Thor looked very pleased with himself, even though he must have known the joke was beneath the both of them.  Loki supposed it _had_ to be gotten out of his system.  And admittedly, under a different set of circumstances, Loki probably would have felt just as possessed to say the same.

“Ha ha.  Ho Ho. Funny.”  He lifted the glass to his lips and with his opposite hand, Loki made a lewd gesture he had grown fond of on Midgard.  It was satisfying. He finished the second glass of water more slowly than the first, placing it to the side before it was empty, and leaned back against the sink.

Thor chuckled on his way to the coffee machine, taking up a station beside Loki.  He put a fresh filter inside and opened the canister of grounds. The heady smell was nauseating; Loki recanted his thoughts on having a cup.

“It looks like the two of you had a party.”

Loki reached for his glass and lifted it to his lips.  “Actually, the drink was to help her calm down after…”

He paused, as did Thor.  The chuckling ceased. From the corner of his eye, Loki uneasily watched his brother falter in pouring a spoonful of coffee grinds, and then reach for a paper towel to clean it up.  He turned with a lined and heavy brow.

Loki pressed his lips together and placed the cup down without drinking.  The waves of nausea were too close together to ignore. What he needed was something to eat.  He began opening the cabinets, searching for the muesli he had discovered the night before.

Thor watched him for a short while before finally asking,  “What happened?”

And so, with a sigh and a sick stomach, Loki began the tale of what had transpired while Thor slept.

“Cora came over just before nine o’clock, I believe it was, and asked if I wouldn’t mind talking.  She wanted to apologize for not telling us the truth and berate me a _bit_ more.”  He found the box of cereal, pulled it down, and set to the task of finding a bowl.  “She’s still not forgiven me for… Or maybe she has. I’m not sure. She _did_ admit to doing the same to me, doing mounds of research, before my arrival -- which I think was good of her to realize.”

There was a matter-of-fact coldness to his tone, perhaps because he felt so ill, but the facts were that it had always been easy for Loki to separate what he said from what he felt.  To a point. If Thor was listening and looking closely enough, which he probably was, he would have noticed that Loki had taken a lesson from Cora, concentrating a on the busy work of making breakfast, and avoiding his brother’s eye.

Thor, meanwhile, had poured water into the coffee machine and pressed a button that caused it to start sputtering.  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Loki shrugged.  “I don’t know. It just sort of unfolded that way.”

“And then what?”  Thor settled into waiting for his liquid breakfast.  “You already knew about her reading information about you.”

“She... went _more deeply_ than I had realized,” said Loki.  He poured milk into the bowl. The cereal was meant to be eaten hot, but he preferred it cold.  “Not to mention that you’ve clearly told her a few things about me of which I was unaware.”

Loki’s coldness turned to ice, and then… it melted.  It felt like slime on his tongue. He came to an abrupt stop, staring down his bowl, as if he could there see the attack which so uncautiously spilled from his mouth.  He placed the milk carton on the countertop and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing at Thor.  “I don’t want to be… I’m _not_ angry with you.  I just didn’t realize how much you told her.”

Thor’s face went red.  His lips thinned. And then, he nodded.  “I don’t want you to think of it as though I divulged your entire life story all at once,” he said.  “She would ask questions and I would try to answer them. But, you’re right, I probably did not always think about what you might not have told her yourself.”  
  
If they were going to start listing the things Loki would _not_ have told her, they would be standing for a very long time indeed.

Loki shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering how interested he was in saying more.  Since his first meeting with Cora, he had been keenly aware that she possessed knowledge of him that had to have come from Thor, and it had made his skin itch.  It still did.

His mouth tasted sour again.  “I know it makes me a hypocrite, by definition, after what I did yesterday afternoon.  And I suppose it’s possible that I wanted to… have some kind of leverage over her. And perhaps I was just a bit too happy to have some freedom for the first time in a year.”  Loki shook his head.   _Always so perceptive... about everyone but yourself._   His mother's final words rattled in his mind.

Thor lifted his eyes.  He appeared to be listening very intently.

But Loki’s throat had grown too tight.  He swallowed hard and shook his head, again.  Opening a drawer, he pushed his hand inside blindly, eyes still on Thor.

“It was just that, she seemed to know all about when I let go of the Gungnir.  I can understand you explaining what happened afterward, but the actual…” He swallowed hard, shook his head, and paused to take a breath, because he _was_ starting to feel angry.  The silverware clattered between his fingers.

Thor took a step forward, so that he was standing right at Loki’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

Loki looked up in surprise, as though Thor had admitted to something truly astonishing, like having a secret life as an exotic dancer.

“I mean it, Loki.  I’m very sorry I told her about that.”

Loki blinked.  The words had come so effortlessly.  The coffee machine made a few fizzling pops, signalling that the brewing had completed its course.

Thor repeated himself, _again_.  “I’m sorry.”

Loki ran his tongue across his very dry lips, swallowed, and sort of nodded.  At least, he felt his head move, though he could not be entirely sure what he was attempting to signal.

“It’s... fine...”  It was not fine, not really, but he was going to be dumbfounded by Thor’s apology for a while to come.  “I think knowing about… _that_ \-- it helped her talk about other things.”

“Such as what?”

Loki’s hand was still in the silverware drawer, his fingers hovering just above the spoons as he thought.  Cora had given him permission to talk about everything, but he was starting to feel hesitant before he even truly began.  What she really had done was place some degree of trust in him. He did not quite know what to do with it.

“Similar experiences,” he offered, haltingly, and hoped it would be enough.

Thor looked confused for a moment, but only a moment, blessedly.  He soberly dipped his head with a single nod and turned to fill a mug with coffee.

Loki passed him the milk with one hand and pulled out a spoon with the other.  He turned around, lifting his bowl to his chest, and pressed his backside against the edge of the countertop.  On the far side of the room, his eyes fell upon the sofa. The television, which was still on, cast random lights and shapes across the fabric, and he absentmindedly stirred his cereal.

“Honestly, Thor,” he said.  “We didn’t wake you because there was no opportune time to do it, once she started talking.  The conversation, you can imagine, was fairly intimate from the start. She told me about what kind of world it was when she grew up.”  He squinted his eyes. “I think she might have been married once and I don’t think it was happily.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She said something about gaining freedom after everyone she knew had died.  I suppose I don’t really know. I’m assuming.” He frowned.

His brother did not reply, but Loki could hear him sipping his coffee and it sounded as though he was nodding while he did it.

He went on.  “But we talked about New York, and about the vision some more -- why she’s certain it’s _me_ running towards her.”

Thor swallowed.  “And why is that?”

Loki opened his mouth, screwing up his face with a funny sort of grimace before answering.  He scratched his chin; the stubble on his jawline scratched him back. “Well, it’s mostly her gut instinct, but she’s convinced.”

“And that… convinces you, as well?”

Loki shrugged.  Once more, he did not know _quite_ how he could put what he was thinking to words that Thor could grasp without having been there.  Much of what he had come to understand about Cora was not through the facts she gave him -- though he did believe her to be forthright once she was finally willing to speak -- but in the little details, the unconscious communication, as it had been from the moment when she revealed herself in the coffee shop, when he first began to pay attention.

Now, Loki squinted at the spot where they had stood talking in the kitchen, beside the island.  He recalled her chipped nail polish as she fidgeted with her coat, her pale hands, and her steady gaze.  She had been so gentle in dealing with their delicate topics of conversation, so gentle with him, really.  Kind. Thinking about some of it now, for a little too long, Loki recognized the warmth of a fire in his belly, as though he would find it effortless to defend her, now that she had become a solid figure in his mind.

Though, at the same time, the realization bore a prickly discomfort.  Last night, he had still been of the opinion that it was right to go to the university, and perhaps it was.  But perhaps it was not. Perhaps he could have gone about all of that in a manner that would not have caused her such pain.

He moved to stuff a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth, as if the coolness might turn down the warm sensation that was becoming less like inspiration and more like burning.

“I don’t think she’s lying about it, at any rate,” he said at length.  He pushed the spoon through his lips for his first bite of the now soggy cereal, only to discover that he had not taken a spoon from the drawer, but a butter knife, and all but stabbed himself in the back of the throat.  “Ahgh! Hel…”

Thor did not fully catch what Loki had done and gestured to the little pine table in the corner.  Loki threw the useless butter knife into the sink, traded it for a spoon, and conceded that it was rather awkward to converse while standing side-by-side at the counter.  He followed his brother across the kitchen, sat beside him, and finally began to eat.

“So, you believe her,” stated Thor.  “Honestly, I’m not going to argue against that.  I wanted you to get along from the start. Do you think this is all in the past, now?”

Leave it to Thor to be pleased with the simplest solution, but as they were now roughly on the same page, Loki was hardly bothered.

“I think it is,” said Loki, taking another spoonful.  He was feeling less sick, more famished. “I think the real problem, for her, was that it was that much of it was just too difficult for her bring up.  It might have been an impossible task. You and I are the first to know in decades.”

Thor nodded.  “It’s understandable.  But what does it all mean?  Is she immortal? Did she say anything regarding that?”

“She doesn’t know,” said Loki.  “She doesn’t know what she is or what the vision has to do with anything.  I don’t think she’s even left Norway since she came here, and what was what?  Forty… almost fifty of the earth’s rotations ago.”

Thor brushed his hand across the table.  He scowled again. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The list.”

“Oh.  I gave it to her.”

“You gave it to her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So that she could _read_ it, Thor.  She took it with her when she left.  I’m sure she’ll bring it back.” Loki could not understand the confusion.  Had his brother not just stated that he _wanted_ the two of them to behave in the friendly manner?

Thor’s lips parted.  He pushed his mug against them and tipped it back, eyes narrowing.  When he made expressions like that, the unnatural sheen of his false eye was a little more noticeable.  Apparently it was not programmed to appear convincingly bemused. Though when Thor smiled, as he happened to do next, the look became a bit more natural.

“No, that’s fine,” said Thor, shaking his head.  “That was a good idea. It’ll give her some idea of what we’re working with.”

“Mmhm.”  Loki scraped the bowl to finish the rest of his cereal.  At last, he could not longer say he felt sick, but the heavy exhaustion had not dissipated.  He briefly returned to considering a cup of coffee, but the reality was that he had time to return to bed, in an actual bed, and that was by far more preferable.  “What’s are your plans, now?” he asked Thor.

Thor leaned back in his chair.  “Since we’re not going to the stave, I have no plans.  Did you and Cora decide when we would meet?”

“I assume after she's had time to put herself back in order.  Later this morning.  She probably needs more sleep.  She was fairly sick.”

Thor raised in eyebrow, to which Loki gave a gentle shrug.  He twisted around in his chair and pointed to the Asgardian flask.

“Juniper Cheer," said Loki.  "Not meant to be taken in large amounts by mortals or otherwise.  Unfortunately, I didn’t remember until we had already taken it in large amounts.”

“Juniper Cheer?  Loki, it's possible you nearly killed her,” laughed Thor.  “I’m not surprised she couldn’t make it home last night.  How long have you been carrying that, anyway?”

“A few hundred years, give or take a decade.”

Thor shook his head.  “The things you keep in your pockets…”

“The things I _forget_ are in my pockets.  Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering if I left an animal in there.  Or, I don’t know… a distant cousin…” Loki rose to his feet, pointing to the filthy Midgardian bottle beside the flask which held something that was supposed to be whiskey, but was decidedly _not_.  “Honestly, if you kept a better liquor cabinet, I wouldn’t have thought to call up something else.  So it’s all your fault, when you think about it.”

Loki did somewhat wonder what Thor drank while he visited Norway and where it was that he went to drink it.  It certainly was not in the apartment. The past two days had been like taking a peek into a part of his brother’s life which, up till now, did not involve him, which was tangibly strange given that their time in New York was nothing but welded together.  What sort of things did Thor do when he was on his own?

“That _thing_ was here when I moved in.  It might be older than your stash.”  Thor tipped back his coffee mug and finished what was left inside.

“There’s your relic!” said Loki, chuckling.

Beside the dirty bottle stood the pristine flask of what remained of the juniper liqueur.  Time to store it again.  Loki reached for it and his fingertips began to shimmer with golden light.  Truly, the craftsmanship of the bottle too exquisite to call it by a word that sounded so crass.   _Flask._  What it was, indubitably, was a piece of fine Asgardian crystal, and unless Loki actually had lost track of a much larger collection of decanters and goblets, it was the only example of its type to survive Ragnarok.

Loki closed his fingers around the neck of the flask, but the golden light in his palm had already vanished, and the glass facets remained solid under the weight of his touch.  He looked at Thor. His brother’s eyes were sharp and heavy.

“Perhaps I’ll leave it out.”

Thor nodded.  “Yes, I think you should.”

Loki carried it to the darkened window over the sink, placed at in the center of the sill, and stepped back.  His hands found one another behind his back and he clasped them there, tightly.

In silence, the brothers admired it.  They had no words. There _were_ no words.

Reluctantly, Loki turned around.  “If we don’t have immediate plans, I’m going to go back to bed, provided you agree that I’ve sufficiently explained the events of last night.”

Thor waved a hand.  “It sounds as though the heart of the matter was between the two of you.  I’m satisfied simply by knowing we can leave it in the past. And try to figure out that she is, I suppose.”

Loki smirked.  “Hmm. And continue your search for your relic?”

“And continue the search for _our_ relic,” corrected Thor.

With a sigh, Loki set one foot in front of the other, shaking his head.  But the opposite corner of his mouth had perked up. He walked past Thor, at first pointing himself in the direction of the bedroom, though he turned off at the bathroom.  It seemed wise to make a quick stop before putting himself to sleep.

Loki ran his fingertips affectionately along the cool lip of the clawfoot tub as he passed it by.  

He showed the toilet less affection.

It was a minute later, while washing his hands, that he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long while, Loki felt compelled to take stock of the image staring back at him.

He clenched his teeth.

The figure Loki saw looked as though it had lost a fight with some kind of wild animal.  His hair, to start, was somehow both matted down _and_ expansive; totally unpresentable, even to Thor.  What could he blame: the rain, the drink, the odd posture of his sleep?  How had his brother not commented on how ridiculous he looked? For fuck’s sake, they had been talking about falling from the Bifrost.  How had he been able to take him with remote seriousness? Not to mention, Cora.

Loki reached up and tugged on a particularly wild curl until it loosened and fell to his shoulder where it belonged.  And because he was apparently a glutton for punishment, he leaned closer to the mirror, nose nearly touching nose.

He patted the delicate skin beneath his eyes, where the circles were purple enough to be mistaken for bruises.  His cheeks were splotched with red. Loki blamed the liqueur directly for the flush, no doubt about that.  Cora had looked much the same in that regard.

He turned on the cold tap water, filled his hands, and splashed it across his face.  He kept one hand raised, eyes locking in on a thread of light which began to snake itself around his forearm, coming to rest at the spot where his knobby wrist met the softer flesh of his palm.  The thread circled a few times, fused together, and settled in the form of an elastic hair tie.

Gathering up the mess that formerly resembled his hair, Loki fastened it in a knot at the base of his skull.  Good enough for now.

He did not give himself another glace.  He merely took a towel, dried his cheeks, and left the bathroom mirror behind.  All he wanted was sleep. He would put himself back together later.

He caught Thor’s eye on the short hook from the bathroom to the bedroom and lifted his hand in a brief salute of sorts.

“G‘night,” said Thor.  He was pouring a second cup of coffee.  “Or… Whatever. Go to bed.”

Loki’s hand gesture turned into a thumbs up.  He went into the bedroom, closed the door, and had he the energy, he would thrown himself on top of the sheets.  As it was, he more or less spread out on his belly like a putty, taking up the full width of the mattress. There were no strange bodies to worry about accidentally rolling over.

He opened his eyes for a moment.

And he closed them again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki had been in the bedroom for about an hour when Thor decided to remove himself from the apartment, and from the pressure of keeping the rooms silent.  His brother was a light sleeper, always had been. Just as it was during his waking hours, it was impossible to sneak around Loki without triggering whatever alarms he kept primed at all times.  And Thor was big enough to admit that he was quite big, and not known for being light of foot in any setting.

Thor had taken two large cups of strong coffee and his limbs had become, to use a very Midgardian term, _antsy_.  His body demanded he put something substantial into it, more than the oats and dried fruit Loki had made his breakfast, but clattering pans was not an option.  So he slipped on his boots and threw on his coat and went outside. Something on the main strip had to be open by now.

There was a jaunt to his step that did not quite belong to the antsy-ness.  The polar night meant it was still dark, but there was something glorious about the quality of the air, as if the storm of the previous day had washed the all the gloom clean.  And maybe it was not _in fact_ warmer, but Thor told himself that it was as he pulled the air deep into his lungs.  He filled himself up like a balloon. He felt light.

Really, Thor was just plain relieved.  If Cora was no longer culpable in Loki’s eyes, then as far as he was concerned, she was fully exonerated.  The matter, from the start, had been between them. Now that it was over, he no longer wished to think about it.  Nor on his embarrassment for not picking up on Cora's deception, understandable though it was, from the start.  To his credit, Loki had never gloated.  Let it die in the past.

Though it did deflate him to think on the the things that Loki brought to light, with regards to her past, and the story about the Gungnir.  Thor too had caught the little tremors in Cora’s expressions from time to time, despite Loki’s apparent belief that he was the only person to notice anything, ever.  He could not help but wonder if he had asked, would he have saved Loki the pressure to solve the mystery for himself. Would Cora ever have told him?

It was over, now.  That was all that mattered, was it not?

Thor curved his way down a less direct, scenic route through one of the few genuine neighborhoods of Seine.  The houses here were old, made of stone, gathered in tight groupings that made for abrupt angles in streets not laid for anything wider than a horse and cart.  He liked the look of them much more than the apartment he had taken, but available was available. And Loki approved, so there was that. And had not been the case, Thor would have expected him to change the entire thing around, anyway.

Thor’s mood perked back up again.  His arms breezily swung back and forth as he turned on to the main strip of shops and restaurants.

That was when he heard it.  His name.

“Thor Odinson.”

It was a resonate baritone, too low to send a chill down anyone’s spine.  Yet, it did. It chilled Thor Odinson.

Thor turned, already knowing who he would find.  The form of Doctor Stephen Strange stepped down from a shop doorstep, dressed in Midgardian fashion.  One brow was lifted high, the other drawn low, giving the impression that he was nearly winking.

The smug bastard.

But Thor had already frozen where he stood.  Dr. Strange approached at his leisure, shaking his head.

“Thor, Thor... Just what has your brother been up to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we are fully transitioned into what I'm calling, at least in my head, Book II. In the next chapter, Thor and Loki's situation in Midgard will become much more clear.
> 
> I love comments and convos about Loki (and Thor!). Check me out on Tumblr. Yes, I'm still over there. Never leaving. [mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/) I'm friendly and I post a lot of Loki stuff!


	11. Doktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has a tense encounter with Stephen Strange.
> 
> Loki is forced to pay a steep price for his visit to unsanctioned visit to Trondheim.
> 
> Thor and Loki have a cathartic moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No bones about it, Thor doesn't like Strange. Whether or not he is able to fairly judge him is open to interpretation.
> 
> But sometimes a doctor can make you sick.

**Chapter 11: Doktor**

 

 

Doctor Stephen Strange was one of the few associates of the Avengers who dressed, seemingly at all times, like a man who  actually considered himself superhero... except right now, for whatever reason.  Thor was certain he had never before seen him in Midgardian attire and it was, well, it was  _ strange _ .  Gone were the royal blue tunic and overabundance of leather belts.  He was attempting to pass as a local in denim, flannel, and wool.

Unlike Thor, he was not exactly pulling it off.  The man’s face was innately conspicuous, with his over-gelled hair, winged gray sideburns, and wide, pointed cheekbones.  Altogether, he was more humanoid than human, and Thor thought the interior matched the exterior. Strange was like an interloper who had attempted to study mankind, but tossed the book aside and declared himself an expert before reaching the chapter on emotion.  He seemed neither to understand it nor possess it, and in Thor’s estimation, that made him dangerously unsuitable for the duty he had been given with regard to the Odinsons’ bargain, and especially with regard to Loki.

It was still before dawn.  All the light by which Thor could see came from street lamps.  Strange was standing too close, smiling like a smug asshole -- a term Stark often used -- as though he had been given power over the God of Thunder by some higher being.  But the unfortunate truth was that he had, and that higher being was Thor himself; he had signed on the dotted line.

“Why are you here?” asked Thor, colder than the arctic waters only a few meters away.  The sound of the bay waves breaking lapped against his ears, sounding unusually loud as his muscles grew tense.

Strange smiled.  He pointed his nose down the street.  “Off to get breakfast?”

A grim chuckle escaped Thor’s lips.  “You should know. Tell me, did you transport yourself seconds before I turned the corner, or have you been waiting here ever since you saw me leave the apartment?”

The smile on Strange’s lips became thoroughly sardonic.  Thor rolled his shoulders and pulled himself up to his full height, a good head over the doctor, but the man did not flinch.

Strange coolly took a step down the road.  “Mind if I join?”

Thor remained still, hands in his pockets, dumbfounded by the man’s audacity.  Typically, when the Doctor turned, the overly dramatic flourish of a blood-red cape followed, but now there was nothing but a dull wool coat.  Yet, the effect was the same. When Strange turned his back, it was to prove a point: Thor was no threat; he held the would-be King of Asgard in the palm of his hand.

There was no choice but to follow, but Thor was certain he had never felt such a desire to pick up a being and hurl him into the sea.  For good measure, perhaps press his face in the water until bubbles  _ stopped  _ coming to the surface.  Strange might have worked with the Avengers, but be brought out a side of Thor reserved for the enemy.  Their short history together was so tangled that it seemed far longer, counting from knot to knot. And at the center of the web, of course, was Loki, still in chains.

Perhaps it was possible that Strange truly did have eyes in the back of his head, for his pace slowed until Thor caught up and the two were beside one another.  Originally, Thor had planned on taking breakfast at the trendy  _ Gud Brod _ , where he had Loki had eaten the previous afternoon, but with Strange in his company, he selected a grimy hole-in-the-wall instead.  He had no desire to give the man anything more to enjoy than his power trip.

They entered the poorly lit dive and seated themselves in a pleather booth.  The place smelled of harsh cleansers and, in spite of them, mildew. Standard Norwegian breakfasts of eggs with laks and anchovies were ordered; it would be just barely edible.  Strange took coffee. Thor had already drank more than enough.

It less empty than one might expect.  The inexpensive, semi-traditional fare was popular among the aging village fishermen, as the clientele was mostly of a specific, hardened type, whose eyes seemed fixed with an unwelcoming glare.  Many of them had taken unappreciative notice of Strange, whose posh airs came off as intentional as they were obtrusive.

Thor would have prefered to dine with any of the grizzled old men.  Had he not been entirely devoid of mirth, he might have caught their wrinkled eyes and shook his head.   _ I know, right?  Get a load of this dickhead. _

Stark had taught him many useful Midgardian terms.

Strange sat on the edge of his cushioned bench, leaning over the table, pushing against Thor’s personal space.  He had finally stopping smiling and his brows were high. He looked as though he was waiting for Thor to speak first, to begin asking questions, but Thor would not be pressured.  He took a lesson from Loki and set his face in like flint.

It took roughly a minute for Strange to give up and begin whatever it was he had come to say.  He spread his palms flat on the table. “Look, Thor, you know why I’m here.”

Truly, Thor did not.  He shrugged and gave his bearded jawline a scratch.

“You know what your brother did.”

Thor tilted his head.  What was Strange getting at?  The business with Cora and Trondheim?  What could he possibly…?

_ Shit. _

Thor rolled his eyes and pulled a short, sharp breath through his nose.  “I know what he did was no violation of our agreement.”

Strange wagged a finger.  “Ah. But you see, that’s where you’re wrong.  You asked me if I would allow his passage through Norway be unrestricted and that I gave him.  But in  _ your company _ , Thor -- not willy-nilly about the country.  He was in another city for hours and you had no idea.  It didn’t even take him a full day to see how much he could get away with.”

Shaking his head, Thor frowned.  “He caused no trouble in Trondheim.”  No diabolical trouble, at any rate.

“Yeah? Well, he caused your friend a lot of grief,” said Strange, far too casually.

Thor’s stoney exterior had already become unsustainable, but he felt himself suddenly blanche, too quickly to turn away.  It was then that the server returned to their table with a single mug of coffee and a few packets of syrupy non-dairy creamer.  Strange lifted one and wrinkled his nose, and chose to take his coffee black.

He had made himself privy to his and Loki’s late-night discussion.  Who else in New York had been invited to witness while Thor slept? But it was no pang of exclusion that he felt -- only rage.

It was not supposed to be this way.  Nothing was ever supposed to be this way.

There was a knot in his stomach.  It had been present since the moment of Strange’s appearance, but now it tightened and grew hot.  The heat spread upward through his chest, like heartburn, filling his throat with bile. He balled his fists beneath the table, nails digging into the flesh of his palms, as threads of electricity danced on his knuckles, hidden from Strange’s view -- though, was anything?  A whiff of ozone reached his nose and Thor told himself to unclench, though his body would not listen. 

Thor closed his eyes for a moment.  “It was all a private matter.”

Strange sipped his coffee.  “ _ None _ of it is a private matter.”

At that, Thor slammed his fist on the table.  The silverware jumped and a crack appeared in the cheap linoleum.  Had he wanted to, he could have broken the thing in half. At last, Strange betrayed his humanity, eyes going wide with shock.  Even he, with all his magic, was still just a man. Somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of that; Thor had no qualms about reminding him.

“You have no power over us, except that which we gave you,” said Thor through his clenched teeth.  “But you have done nothing but abuse that power. You have no right to spy--”

“I have  _ every  _ right to spy.  It’s literally my job!” cut in Strange.  Neither of them were shouting, but the staff was beginning to take note of the seething, violent energy radiating from the table.  “You know what your brother did in New York. You know who he is. Do you know why I was appointed to watch him, Thor? Because I’m the only one who can properly do it.  Do you think I  _ enjoy _ babysitting your brother?”

“Yes.  I think you do.”

Strange ran his tongue across his teeth and shook his head.  “It could have been so much worse, Thor. I don’t understand this chip on your shoulder.  Even Loki doesn’t bother to fight me the way you do. He could have been sentenced to the Raft for five-thousand years, or however long you Asgardians live.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been adamant that Thanos had control over him. I don’t know how many of us really believe it, but… You are who you are, so he got a year of house arrest.  Not even  _ house arrest _ , Thor, it’s…”

He was growing red-faced in the midst of his own argument, but Strange was clearly not a man who enjoyed having to defend his actions.

“One year.  The agreement was o _ ne year _ of observation, then Loki gets access to everything in his magical arsenal and you two are free to do whatever you damn well please.  Why couldn’t you have just waited to bring him to Norway? One more month and I could’ve stopped pretending to give a shit.”

Thor’s expression had become so grave that he could feel the furrows in his brow going stiff.  “You know I have more important places to be once Loki is free and we can depart Midgard.”

“Yes.  New Asgard.  And where is that again?”

“Far from your jurisdiction, I can assure you.”

Thor forced himself to look away, folding his hands tightly over the table.  He thought about Loki, how he had started to look in New York, how he still looked  _ now _ : wraithlike, and not only on the outside.  Loki had become a shadow, a ghost, something not fully part of the living world.  Small wonder he had gone overboard trying to crack Cora’s secrets once they had set foot on free soil.  Some prisoners went for brothels, Loki just preferred a different sort of playground.

Did Strange enjoy pretending that the reality of his and Loki’s status was as simple as his simple words, or was he just an obstinate fool?  Or was he something worse?  _ Observation, my ass. _

His brother had held out his proverbial hand and allowed Strange to take from him that which made Loki  _ Loki _ .  Just how much of his magic had been locked off?  More than had been their agreement, of this Thor was certain, but when he asked, Loki would not answer, and it broke Thor’s heart to think just how much his brother was willing to sacrifice, to ensure they would both would see the year through.

Collateral.  Thor had offered his kingship for his brother’s “freedom”; Loki had given his soul to ensure his brother’s oath.

Thor began to unconsciously wring his hands.  Beads of light popped across his knuckles.

He had been quiet for a long time, now.  The food was arriving. Thor leaned back so that they could place it on the table, but he had lost his appetite.  Arms moved down and up through his field of vision; his near-murderous gaze on Stange did not break.

At last, the man across the table seemed to grow uncomfortable.  “What?”

“You’ve castrated my brother and, like a dog, you expect him to be grateful for it, like you’ve made his captivity a little easier.  I had to get him out of New York. You see what you've done to him, but you don’t care.”

Strange was smart enough refrain from comment for a moment.  To an untrained eye, he even looked like he had begun to take Thor's words to heart as he frowned and pushed eggs around on his plate with his fork.

“I have a duty--” he finally began, soberly, but Thor did not want to hear it.

“Your duty is to everyone with a connection to Midgard, not every being with the exclusion of  _ one _ .”  Thor took a breath and rubbed his beard hard enough to leave welts beneath the hair.  “You treat him like a monster, a scapegoat for Thanos’s crimes. Not just you. All of…”

He could not finish.   _All of those whom I once called friends._

Strange wrinkled his nose as he began to eat.  “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“Yes, Thor!” Strange snapped, unexpectedly.  “We agreed to terms for his freedom, simple terms,  _ lenient  _ terms.  What do you think he deserved?  A pat on the back and a damn medal?”

Thor angrily took up his fork and poked at the greasy mess on his plate.  His heart pounded within his throat.

Strange sighed.  “I’m just a man doing my job.  You can disagree all you want.”

The thudding pulsations moved as high as the Asgardian’s ears.  Even if it was the truth, and Strange took no personal delight in Loki’s misery, he could stand to be a bit more compassionate, could he not?  Thor frowned. Perhaps Strange was only doing the job which had had been given, but Thor wished it had been  _ anyone  _ else.

Strange ate silently and aggressively, until he was too disgusted to continue.  He dropped his silverware and shoved the platter to the side.

“They want you do come back and report on what happened.  ASAP. No later than this afternoon.”

Thor threw down the fork in his hand.  “It was a personal… What do they want me to say?  Who wants me to say it?”

“Ross, mostly,” replied Strange.  “I imagine Stark will be there.”

“You watched it all, didn’t you?  You saw more than I. You make the report.  The result will be the same either way.” Really, what was the point?  It was all just a formal procedure to add a black mark to Loki’s record.  Semantics. The deck was already stacked. “Why the rush?”

“Contrary to what you might think, Thor.  I don’t actually watch your brother twenty-four hours a day.  Once he vanished from your apartment, I was alerted. I checked in a few times after I realized it was nothing more than a weird little personal vendetta.”

Thor blinked.  “If you saw him go… why didn’t you tell me then?”

Strange gave a quick shrug.  “I wanted to see how it played out.  Look, Thor, I know he wasn’t plotting to make humanity kneel before him.   _ Again. _  But  _ you _ are the one they want to see.  You know you dropped the ball.” He reached for his coffee.  “I’m not the enemy here. I’m only the messenger.”

Thor pushed his breakfast to the side and leaned forward, looking squarely at Strange.  The knot in his stomach had been pulled a little tighter. Checking in a few times, being privy to the conversation with Cora -- something about this was officially fishier than the sardines on their plates.  “I don’t have the time nor interest to return to New York to tell you all of what I don’t know. You saw Loki leave. You did nothing. You waited until this morning to talk to me.”

Strange held up a hand to stop him.  “You know what the agreement is. Just because you haven’t needed to make a report for a few months doesn’t mean you get to stop making them when they’re required.”

With an unhindered gaze, Thor looked Strange up and down.  What was wrong here? What was going on behind the man’s shark-eyes?

What would Loki have noticed immediately?

But his perception felt dim, possibly due to the draining nature of anger, possibly due to hunger, and Thor would not rule out that Strange might be capable of messing with his perception without his realizing.

Strange’s eyes dramatically narrowed, making his face more mask-like than it already was, harder to read what was buried beneath.  Thor knew he was being too obvious, but he was combing through a mountain of information as quickly as his mind could do it. The eye on Norway, the waiting after Loki’s disappearance, the ear on Loki’s  _ very personal _ conversation with Cora…

It suddenly occurred to Thor that Strange had likely been observing them in the coffee shop when they confront Cora with the photograph.  And that meant they knew about the photograph.

They knew about  _ Cora _ and  _ her photograph _ .

Thor felt the blood drain away from his cheeks, from where is seemed to collect in his stomach, thick and sour and hot.

Strange’s sardonic smile returned.  A ring of gold light appeared at his back, though which Thor could see the dark, moody interior of The Sanctum Sanctorum.   _ Déjà vu _ flooded his senses, sending his skin crawling.

What was it with sorcerers and restaurants?  First Loki and now this. Did they have something against completing a meal?

“Do you want to come with me now?” asked Strange, though to call it asking would be very generous.  “Or do you need an hour? Can’t give you more than that.”

“You said I had until this afternoon.”  Thor blasted air through his nose in an attempt to rouse his anger, but his body was electric in an entirely different way, now, buzzing with dread.

“Changed my mind.  Be outside your rental in an hour.  Just you. Not your brother.”

Thor seriously considered whipping something on the table,  _ anything _ , through the damn portal that was quickly growing large enough to engulf a person.  “I assume you’ve already fixed it so he couldn’t follow us anyway.”

“You know what, God of Thunder, when you’re right, you’re right.”

And just like that, Strange was gone, only it was far less simple than merely vanishing.  Not only had the man slipped from view, but Thor’s entire surroundings had changed. A roaring wind filled his ears, only to be replaced in seconds by the aggressive lapping of the sea against the docks.  He was out on the street, in the exact spot where he had first encountered Strange. Thor felt his body fall and strike the pavement, as the bench beneath him blinked out of existence. With an incensed growl, Thor swung at the air.

He was alone.

His raspy breath sounded like that of an animal as he pushed himself back on his feet.  Thor reached into his pocket, plucking his phone and checking the time, and then he rolled his eyes.

Strange had sent him back a half-hour, as if their meeting had never taken place, with no reason for it except to prove that he could, that unlike Loki, his many powers were finely-tuned, sharp as knives, and intact.  

_ Unlike  _ Loki.  A chill coursed through Thor’s rage-hot blood, stilling him, like water turning to ice.

Unlike  _ Loki, _ whose powers were fractured and vulnerable and Strange had just admitted to tampering with, again.  The last time he had done that...

_ Shit. _

Thor spun around and pointed his gaze in the direction of the apartment.  His heart was already pounding, his feet followed. He tore down the street.

_ I’m coming, Loki.  I’m coming. _

 

* * *

 

For the second time that morning, Loki would wake with only a faint concept of where he was, physically speaking, his head full of sludge, as though his brain was submerged in dank, murky waters.  Earlier, he had thought himself to be in bed, rather than the sofa, but now it was the other way around, with the memory of drifting to sleep in the living room far more clear (inasmuch as anything could be called clear) than his more recent conversation with Thor.

He could recall the weight of Cora on the other end of the sofa and the shrieking witches of Hocus Pocus and sensation of his arms tightly knotted across his chest.  Slowly, everything dimmed, all of the lights and noises receding into the background, and after that sleep must have finally taken him for now he was waking. 

But he was in his bed and very confused by that fact.  How had he gotten here? Loki sat up, too swiftly, throwing off his equilibrium, sending the room spinning.  His head was aching, again -- throbbing, actually. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers against his temples until the nauseating sensations started to fade, which they did, but it took a while.  It took too long.

Through his teeth, Loki drew a shivering breath.  He was remembering something else, now, something that had nothing to do with previously waking up on the sofa, Thor’s ill-timed jokes, or urging Cora to go home, all of which had also begun to take shape in his brain and arrange themselves in some semblance of chronological order.  He was recalling an event which had taken place just under a year ago, and an illness that followed.

Loki felt horrible, like absolute death, worse than before.  As the waves of dizziness receded and he opened his eyes, he could see by the thin light through the window that the front of his shirt was drenched.  He peeled the fabric from his chest, letting go only for it to fly back into place like a sticky rubber band. His palms were were pale and puckered all the way down to his fingertips, as though they had been in the bath, but it was all from sweat: cold, clammy, and disgusting.

His heart was in his throat and it felt like fire.  Loki balled his hands into fists. His wrists were weak, but that did not stop him from clenching until he drew actual pain.  If he could feel pain, at least he had not gone completely numb  _ this time _ .

Loki spread his fingers again, narrowing his eyes on the center of his palms.  He stared for a very long time. Nothing else happened.  _ Nothing  _ at all.

The front door flew open, shuddering on its hinges, nearly rattling Loki’s teeth, which also ached.  Thor’s heavy boots clomped across the floor, making what sounded for a beeline for the bedroom. Loki saw his brother come to a halt on the other side of the door, his shadow breaking up the strip of light seeping between the wood and the floor.  He anxiously shifted his weight from foot-to-foot.

“I’m awake,” said Loki.  That would speed things along.  His voice sounded jarringly normal, considering how he felt.

The door swung open, bringing in more light than the faint dawn through the shaded window.  It stung Loki’s eyes, causing a pronounced winced, but he was determined to see the expression on Thor’s face.  He had no doubt that his brother was to be the bearer of some explanation, along with some what was probably some  _ very  _ bad news.

Thor, in a word, looked horrified.  He also looked furious, but that was several layers down.  He took a long, unstable step toward Loki, who might have held up a hand to protect his pride, had he the strength.  The simple act of clenching his fists had drained him.

Thor moved in to get a good look, seating himself on the edge of the bed.  He placed his knuckle on the side of Loki’s chin, turning his face toward the light, and he released a forlorn sigh.

“It will pass,” said Loki, mustering all the gentleness he was capable of.  The fact that he felt so weak helped. He wanted to reassure his brother. He also wanted him to take step back and grant him some breathing room.  His words accomplished neither, as Thor continued to tilt Loki this way and that, taking in each angle, and Loki’s face had many angles to take in.

“How long?” asked Thor.

“A few hours for the worst of it.  Maybe a day.” Hopefully. The worst of it was hellish.  He did not mention the days of weakness to follow or the mental fog which had never fully lifted from the first time.  Loki had learned to live with it, to a point. The alternative was not living at all, Loki had tested those waters too many times already.  Death had never proved to be an escape from anything.

Not to be morbid about it or anything.

Thor drew back his hand, only to move it to Loki’s brow.  He peeled away a few strands of sweat-matted hair, and that was when his brother finally snapped.  He jumped to his feet and stomped away. “Dammit! Now I wish I really  _ had _ killed him!”

Loki took a long breath and neatly placed his hands in his lap.  “So, Brother… What happened while I was asleep?” As if he could not guess.

Stephen Strange had happened, that was what.

Thor had walked as far as the window.  His silhouette was rigid, and the aura of rage that surrounded him so chaotic that Loki thought he might actually be able to literally see it.  “I…”

The pause of apprehension was almost immediate.  Again, Loki did not wonder why. It was clear that they were still being watched, even right this second.

“I ran into Strange on my way to get some breakfast,” Thor said at last.

Loki pressed his lips together, forming an uneven smile.  He puffed out his cheeks and nodded. “He’s not terribly tickled about the whole Trondheim thing, I take it.”  His words tilted with a mocking lilt, but his stomach felt like a brick of lead. All things came with a price.  Strange could take what he wanted, when he wanted, within the parameters of their so-called bargain. 

“No.  He’s not,” replied Thor.  He voice was sad and thin, and it caused Loki to swallow hard.  He turned around. A severe frown had put deep lines in all of his features and, given the meager backlighting from the window, it was a little like the sun had gone out.  “He wants me to go back to New York and make a report. Now.”

Loki’s jaw tightened.  “What could you even say?  You saw none of it.”

Thor sighed, though bore the low, guttural nuance of a growl.  “Unfortunately, that is a large part of it, that you were able to do so much while I was none the wiser.”

His voice, almost from word-to-word, waffled between acerbity and mounting anger, anger that Loki could perceive was somewhat directed at him.  It left a bitter taste in Loki’s mouth, but he held his tongue, because the guilt did not so easily roll off his shoulders. Doing harm to Cora was one thing, but harming his brother was something different.  There was far too much at stake.

But Loki was angry, too, and anger was so much easier to let flow than guilt.  “What do they expect, that you should follow me into every room? If I take too long on the toilet, are you to report on that?  He opens Norway to me and then punishes me for--”

“He is likely listening to us right now,” warned Thor.

“Does it matter?  He’s already sentenced me!  He’s syphoned off--” This time, it was Loki who interrupted himself, though not voluntarily.  His breath had caught on a hitch. His heart started its pounding. What was cold grew hot and what was hot went cold.

_ Fantastic.  Absolutely impeccable timing. _  But what could he expect?  Did this not make perfect sense?  His magic was inaccessible, surgically spliced, and Loki felt like one enormous exposed nerve, vulnerable as a child, naked as a newborn.

One left out in the snow, perhaps.

...He shook his head.  Thoughts like that would not help.  The spasm of fear would not run its course if he fanned the flame.  But the burning in and of itself, he could not so easily stop by waiting out.  This fear was more than memory, this was his body reacting as though it had lost a limb.  

Loki look a measured breath in and counted down the release, glancing sidelong at Thor, hoping his brother was too wrapped up in his own rage to notice.  But Thor, damn him, was staring intently. His brows were low, his mouth hanging ever so slightly on its hinges.

“Loki?”

“I'm fine.”  Loki reflexively tightened his fists.  He wished his brother still as narcissistic as he had once been.  It was so much easier to conceal things back then, because he had so rarely looked past the end of his nose.  Now, it was as if he had gained eyes rather than lost one.

“You clearly are not,” said Thor, too quickly to sound anything but stern, but his gaze betrayed him as the light they reflected began to tremble.

“ _ I will be _ ,” Loki growled, throwing the blankets from his legs.  He looked over the side of the bed, down at the floor, which appeared to be a fathomless depth and sent his stomach rolling.  He took another steadying breath. “This part doesn't last forever. Who knows, once the initial shock fades, I might realize he hasn’t taken as much as it seems.  Dust... dust  _ settles _ .  M-Most of it was still accessible last time.”

“That's not what I was referring--”

“Well, it's all...  It’s all I'm willing to discuss!” barked Loki as he pressed his palm against his forehead.  He was still slick with sweat; all he wanted was to scrub himself clean.

“Loki…”  Thor's voice was plaintive now.  It was pained. 

“P-Please, Brother, I don’t have the energy.”  Loki aimed his feet at the floor -- it really did feel like jumping -- and steeled himself before rising, locking his knees until he was certain he was not going to fall.  “I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be if you remain this determined to conceal everything!”

At last, Loki turned his face to Thor.  He wanted to bite off brother’s head, truly he did.  Did he not know when to stop, when to leave something be?

Well, no.  Of course he did not.

Loki's stomach rolled again and he thought there was a good chance he might become ill.  “I am sorry you have to make the report on your own, but they never invite me to meetings where I might actually defend myself, so...”  It was not an apology in the remotest sense. It was an exit. Loki moved as swiftly as he could manage, though it hurt -- Norns, how everything  _ hurt _ \-- from the bedroom toward the bath, touching both door frames to steady himself along the way.  His body shook. Even switching on the light was a chore.

“Loki.  Don't.” Thor was following him.

“Thor.  I mean it.  I can't right now--”

His brother caught him by the shoulder, spinning him around, against both Loki’s will and his ability to keep upright.  Loki's hands flew forward, fists balled, ready to strike, but his arms held no strength. The last thing he saw before hitting the floor was Thor’s eyes going wide with shock, and then they flashed with horror.

Losing consciousness sounded wonderful, but Loki had no luck.  He could half-hear Thor’s frantic apologies as the world spun and wobbled and, at last, became blessedly level beneath his hands and knees.  And quiet. It was so silent that he could not even hear Thor’s breathing.

Loki’s body, meanwhile, screamed with the ferocity of a wounded dragon.

What remained of his pride, a mere ounce perhaps, somehow survived the fall.  Carefully,  _ gingerly _ , Loki began to peel himself from the tile floor.  When he was able, he waved a hand to ensure that Thor would not assist, but it seemed his brother had no ability to doing anything but gape in petrified awe.  Loki pressed his back against the side of bathtub and caught his breath.

_ Ta da... _

For being so utterly humiliated, he felt unexpectedly, astonishingly calm.  The waves of panic had receded. A blow to the head had an uncanny knack for clearing the mind.

Thor swallowed, lowering himself to take a knee.  For a moment, he looked as if he was going to reach for Loki after all, but instead he pushed himself against the opposite wall and flopped down in an ungraceful heap.  A ferocious pulse was visible in the sinews of his neck, but his face was pale and drawn, and though he had been the one to strike the floor. As to who between them was the more dazed, Loki could not tell.  How could looking at Thor be so unlike looking in a mirror, and yet reflect so much?

“I'm not bleeding, am I?” asked Loki, gliding a hand across his brow.  His fingertips came up clean, but the tension would not break.

“Brother… I’m frightened to leave you when you’re like this.”

“I’m not  _ dying, _ Thor.”

Thor swallowed again, harder.  “Aren’t you?” His voice cracked like that of a adolescent.  “This isn’t you. You aren’t yourself.”

“I’d say taking a deliberate swing at you is quite like myself.”

“Stop.”

“I’m not certain I can.  Not swing at you, I mean.”

In spite of the strain, Thor gave in to a smile, though it was meager and uncertain of how to settle, and never quite reached his eyes.  Loki appreciated the attempt. If he could put a smile on Thor’s face, then he had to be doing some part of all this right.

But the moment was fleeting, and the serenity of his humiliation had likewise evaporated, replaced by a stomach of lead as he watched Thor’s gaze cool and harden.  His brother needed something much more than a smile, something Loki had buried so deep that to dig it up seemed an arduous task, and he was fairly certain he did not have the strength.

“Loki, we're still going in circles.  You insist on your secrets, I push too hard to get them out of you.  One of us usually ends up taking a swing... There has to be a better way.”

“Of course there’s a better way, but this is us we’re talking about.  Give it a few more centuries.” He watched Thor to see if he had earned another smile, but his face remained grim.   Loki adjusted the position of one of his legs, wincing as he did so. “Be patient with me. I’m trying.”

Thor nodded.   “Could you try harder?”   


Loki could not reply.  His lips were parted, but no sound found their way out.  His brother looked like a forlorn child and Loki knew he must have had the same bleak expression on his own face.  How often had their positions been reversed, with he the one to plead with Thor when he so desperately needed more than a quip or a growl.  Was Thor still oblivious to Loki’s torment when he looked back on that dark era? Probably. Thor would never fully understand, but Loki had accepted that.  The point was that his brother had taken an interest now, had shown interest for a long time, and Loki wished, so very much, that he could conjure words to come forth from his tense throat.

“Loki, I don’t know how I’ll be able to face Ross and Strange, if you can’t give me…”  Thor shrugged. “A little faith.”

Loki lowered his face, tilting his chin into the hollow of his pronounced collarbones until skin touched skin.  He stared past his feet toward a spot that slowly grew and transformed into a void, a space there only thought seemed to exist.   _ A little faith?   _ His eyes glazed over from not blinking.  Even Thor’s overbearing form receded into the figurative gray mist, until there seemed to be nothing in the room aside from Loki and his own threadbare mind.

“Loki?”

Thor’s voice gave him a start.

“I'm thinking,” Loki blurted.

Sensation returned.  He could feel the tile beneath his outstretched legs and the overhead lights regained their brightness, and he lifted his eyes to Thor.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I still have those attacks... from time-to-time.”

Thor’s good eye gave a twitch.  “How often?”

“Once in a while, I suppose.  It’s fairly random. It doesn’t bother me all that much.”

“Then why do you hide it?”

“Because I know it bothers you.”  He tilted his ear toward his shoulder.  No longer did everything seem far in the distance; the entire scene felt as though it was flush against his eyes.  Loki ran a knuckle across the lower rim of his eyelids, first one side, than the other, and then he attempted to smile, because he did not know what else to do.

Thor shook his head.  “It’s  _ never _ bothered me.  It  _ concerns  _ me.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never been terribly good at separating the two of those.”

“I was under the impression that Stark had helped you.”  Thor scratched the back of his neck. His face and eyes seemed at battle with one another, expressing anger one moment and shame the next, like a gathering storm.

“He did.  Not every solution is neat and tidy.  You lost an eye. You have a false one that grants you sight, but the eye is still gone.”  Loki adjusted his weight again, pulling a knee close and letting it fall to the side. He shifted to a tone of voice far more serious.  “The truth is that I can’t bare to be pitied, Thor.”

Thor frowned.  He brought a hand to his chest and clutched a fistful of the fabric.  “I just feel so responsible.”

“Oh, how could we have realized what Strange was aiming to do--”

“No, Loki.  All of it. I feel… I feel responsible for so much of you’ve been through.”

Loki drew back his head.  

“The shadow you said you lived within, the fall from the Bifrost…  Do you recall, when we first encountered one another on Earth, when I thought you were dead, and you told me you remembered it as if I had thrown you?”

“Yes, but that was… That was a  _ delusion _ .”  It was difficult to admit, even now, the susceptibility of his own mind to the Titan’s poison.

Thor worked his jaw for a moment and then shook his head.  “It’s always stayed with me. I think there might be more truth in it than either of us want to admit.  I should have realized what I was doing to you, all those years. I was creating a rift, separating you from everyone, from our friends, from father, causing division by my own arrogance.  I thought it was the role I was born to play, and I didn’t question it until it was too late.”

Loki ran his fingertips across the space beside his leg, gliding along the smooth surface of the tile.  His mouth hung on its hinges, though breath came neither in nor out. It was stupefying to learn, after so long a time, that he had been so wrong, that Thor  _ did _ understand what had pushed Loki over the edge long before the Bifrost -- and that not only did he understand, but that he was guilt-ridden.

“Brother, I… I don't know what to say.”

“I'm sorry, Loki.  Can you forgive me?”

Between the each of the black-and-white tiles on the floor was a thin strip of grout: gritty, gray, hard as rock.  Loki distractedly scraped his index finger down one line, pulling up a minuscule cloud of dust. He rubbed his finger and thumb together, brushing the power away.

He thought.  Thor waited with a surprising amount of patience.

“Brother,” said Loki, at last lifting his eyes.  “I would be lying if I said I didn't blame you for many things.  But when I think about falling from the Bifrost and ultimately pledging my fealty to the Titan, you are the last person I hold accountable.  You sought me out, you never gave up. Yes, I was incredibly jealous of you at times… I still am, now and then. Not too often, mind you.” Loki smirked.  “We are doomed to exasperate one another for centuries. But I no longer doubt that you love me. And I hope you never doubt that I forgive you.”

Loki’s heart felt as though it had nestled itself, almost comfortably, against the wall of his chest, sending out the first real bit of warmth he had felt since waking.  He watched a smile, a real one, bloom across his brother’s face, fanning the faint lines beside his eyes.

Thor rocked forward onto his knees.  He shuffled toward Loki and clasped a hand behind his neck.  And then immediately, his expression turned sour and he reclaimed his hand.  “You are disgustingly clammy.”

“I am well aware.”

“Probably why you came here in the first place.”  Thor pointed his face this way and that around the bathroom.

“It was.”

For a moment, Thor looked as though he was debating with himself, his damp hand still hovering in the air.  It was Loki who moved first, wrapping his arm around Thor’s back. His limbs did not seem quite so weak as he patted his shoulder blade.  Thor’s debate came to an end and he wrapped Loki in a firm embrace, lifting him from the floor, which hurt a bit, but hardly worth making a complaint.

“Oh, god.  You feel so gross.  I’m actually regretting this,” said Thor.  But his arms did not loosen their hold.

Loki’s chuckle was muffled by the fabric of Thor’s denim jacket.  “Shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

Neither of them made another comment.  After a few more seconds, their arms naturally parted and Thor helped Loki to his feet, but it was only to a degree that they separated.  Loki reached out and pinched the sleeve of Thor’s jacket. “You’re going to meet with Strange and Ross, now?”

“I am.”

“You won’t take offence if I give you a bit of advice?”

Thor looked blank for a moment.  And then he gave a nod.

Loki lowered his voice.  He doubted it mattered. The had means to listening in the defied volume.   “Don’t underestimate Strange. There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has convinced himself that he’s on the side of the angels.  Believe me, I would know."

Thor lifted an eyebrow.  “Did you really think you were fighting the good fight?”

“I thought I was doing the only work that mattered,” said Loki.  “You would be wise if every time you spoke to him, you pictured me as I was then, and then reconsidered whatever it was you were about to say.”

“You are nothing alike, even as you were then.”

“This is general advice.   War tactics. You are already angry with him.  If you go there on the attack, it will only push him further into believing how right he is.  Better yet, don’t see me when he speaks, _be_ _me_ when you speak.  I can’t be in there with you; you have to act as my voice.”

“This is a just eloquent way of warning me not to mess up,” said Thor.  He adjusted the collar of his jacket and glanced toward the front door, bristling ever so slightly.

“Yes, well, they didn’t start calling me Silvertongue for for no reason at all.”

Thor blasted air through his nose.  “I feel as though I’m walking into a trap.  Something isn't right.  Strange kept his eye on you for almost a day before seeking me out.  Why would he do that?”

“I don't know.  But all the more reason why you need to think before you speak.”

Glancing across his shoulder, Thor shot Loki a glare.

Loki held up both hands.  “I have the utmost faith that you are capable of thinking.  I have seen you do it several times.”

Thor rolled his eyes.  “I am regretting that hug, now.”

Again, Loki reached forward and tugged on the sleeve of his brother’s coat, reeling him in.  His face had become sober once more. “You’re angry. I am, too. But that only means that Strange already has the advantage.  But if this is a battle, then you should find it easy to think like a general.”

Loki watched a spark of light return to his brother’s eyes.  He clapped his hand on his shoulder and they exchanged one final preparatory look before Thor swiftly marched himself out of the bathroom.  He turned and vanished and the front door opened and closed.

That was when Loki’s knees gave out.  The lip of the tub was beneath him and he sat himself there, catching his breath.  He pressed a hand to his chest, as if to guide the air in and out.

_ Don’t do anything stupid, Thor, for love of me.  Please. _

_ This cannot be over soon enough. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story. This entire chapter (or at least 50%) happened of it's own will to live. I had very different plans, but once I started writing, I knew there was more to be said on certain points. So focused on those and decided to move the rest of what I had outlined to Chapter 12.
> 
> So, more to come on Strange and Thor. More to come on Loki and Cora. Soon.
> 
> I really hope you readers out there are enjoying this. If you are, I hope you'll leave a comment! I love getting to know fellow Loki (and Thor) fans. You can also check me out on Tumblr: [mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/)


	12. Naken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has gone to meet with General Ross in New York, and Loki, still ill from Strange's handiwork, has no choice but to wait.

**Chapter 12: Naken**

 

Loki had a problem.

Frowning deeply, he paused within the wooden frame of the bedroom door, supporting his depleted body with one hand, securing a towel around his waist with the other. He had showered, and though it had been no magical cure, he did at least feel better for having done so. His joints still ached and walking took more out of him than running ever had, but no longer did he feel slimy as an eel from cold fever sweats, which was a great step toward feeling half-alive, rather than half-dead.

None of that altered the fact that a problem remained: a practical, fairly avoidable problem with which he now had to contend. Loki balled the fabric of the towel in his fist, clenching his jaw as he swallowed.

Oh yes, he indeed had a problem. He did not have any clothing.

Loki had not thought to pack a bag. Never before in his life had such a thing been necessary, except, he imagined, in childhood, before he had learned to cast illusions or store items in the pockets between dimensions. That had been several hundred years ago, too long to retain any significance in his memory, and Loki doubted he had been the one packing the bags even then, when there were servants to do such things. Or perhaps his mother had laid a hand to the task.

The ultimate result was the same: Loki could not recall a time when things -- whatever he might need -- were not in easy, almost instantaneous reach, and though the work of honing his magic had been laborious, there was no questioning that he had become at least a _bit_ spoiled in the years since its mastery.

Loki grumbled across the darkened room and perched himself on the edge of his bed, releasing the towel and letting gravity do the work of keeping it draped across his lap. His fingers had gone stiff from holding on so tightly and remained bent, just as his spine curved forward under the weight of his body, though he felt hollow inside. His entire form had adopted a concave appearance. Even breathing was more like dragging unwilling air into his lungs.

Showered or not, this anemic state would hang on him for some time. The first bout, when Strange’s initial barriers were set in place, had left Loki sickly for about a week. After that, the wound which the _operation_ had inflicted upon him seemed to heal, and he regained access to some of what first seemed lost, not unlike an limb recovering motion and strength after the trauma of injury.

The first time had been considerably worse, actually. To lose magic, it turned out, was a kind of desanguination, and Loki’s body had gone nearly physically numb from the shock of being drained of so much at one time. Stirring up the memory, as he did now, made him go hot and cold all over, but at least it was something he could feel.

Small victories...

Loki closed his eyes and told himself it would be wiser expending energy solely on problems which he could solve. Dressing himself, for example. Raking in a deep breath, he switched on a table lamp, brightening the little blue bedroom, and picked up the clock which stood squat at the corner of the table.

Nine-thirty. Thor was unreachable by now, provided he had not already short-circuited the meeting with Ross and Strange by punching a hole through either of them. Loki sighed, looking down at himself. The sigh became a thorny chuckle and he shook his head. There was humor in this, somewhere, but he was glad to be alone, laughing into a vacuum.

All right. Clothing. Scraping together a bit of dignity would go a long way toward keeping him sane until Thor returned with news.

Loki skimmed a palm over his slick, wet hair, cradling the back of his skull as it came to rest there. For a moment he remained like that, silent and still, thinking. With a blast of air through his nose, he threw his hand to the side, carrying his hair with it, which curved snake-like around his neck. Thrusting forward that same hand, he turned his palm upward and stared into it.

But of course, nothing happened. Loki clenched his fist with a sting of embarrassment for even making the attempt.

There was no chest of drawers in the room, no obvious places to store clothing, which was odd, but the room was exceedingly small. In fact, when Loki had split the single bed into two, it had placed both all but flush against the east and west walls, minus a pair of tiny nightstands on either side.

He twisted around and stared down the rest of the room. This was only a puzzle, was it not? He could solve a puzzle, even if his brain felt like it was full of burlap. Probably. What did he have to work with?

The only clothing in his possession were the pajamas which he had conjured the previous night. They were now damp with sweat and beginning to smell like something pickled, and washing them by hand would take too much time. By the time they were dry and wearable, Thor would have returned.

But… Loki tilted his head. _Thor_ had brought a bag with him, had he not? The clothing would be ill-fitting, but it was better than nothing at all, which was the literal description of Loki’s alternatives.

So it had come to this: dressing like a drifter in Norwegian fishing village. He might as well be human.

Loki rose to his feet, tightening the grip on his towel as he circled to the center of the space, in the lane between the two beds. The towel was not strictly necessary; he was the only one in the apartment. But with the strong likelihood of Strange checking in at some point during the meeting in New York, it seemed wise to keep something wrapped around him.  Although truthfully, Loki was rather tempted to let go and give the doctor a clear view of his good opinion. It was unfortunate that he had just given Thor instruction on curbing his impulsive temper.

He scanned the room with the narrow eyes of a cat on the hunt. _Were I Thor, where would I haphazardly scatter my worldly possessions?_

To that, the answer came quickly. Loki got down on his knees, carefully, lowering himself until his cheek touched the floor and he could peer beneath his brother’s bed. A satisfied smile spread across his face as the metal fixtures of Thor’s travel bag winked at him like stars in a darkened sky. Loki stretched out and dragged the canvas backpack into the light. Salvation!

But the material flopped lifelessly in his hands and inside he found only air.  Loki shuddered in disbelief and his heart sank, forming a knot in his gut.  Had the bag only ever been full of maps?  Where was Thor keeping his clothing, in the kitchen drawers?  

With a hiss, he cast the bag aside, and rocking back on his heels, Loki inhaled deeply to catch his breath from the exertion. His chin dipped. He looked down at himself, into the grizzled eye of the scar at the center of his chest, watching the discolored skin pulsate in time with his heart.

The sour taste of bile rose to the back his throat. His eyes moved from his chest to the towel in his lap, and then down the length of his legs, coming to rest on his bare feet and the bluish color beneath of his toenails.  He shivered.  With a laugh dripping with pure disgust, almost a wretch, Loki threw his gaze away from himself, shaking his head. Whatever fragmented hint of comedy he thought he saw moments ago, it must have been a delusion, a remnant of his fever.

_Come and see Prince Loki of Jotunheim, naked as the day he was born and subsequently cast on a frozen rock!_

He despised everything: Strange and Ross and New York. He hated Norway, too. Everything smelled of salt and fish and it was nauseating. Earth was a prison. Once he had run where even the gods dared not walk, in the corridors between worlds, passageways which boggled the fully sane. Entire planets reached toward his outstretched hand and Loki could pull them to himself in an instant, covering distances beyond the speed of the Bifrost in a single step. It was an existence which contained no barriers; the universe belonged to him.

And what had his universe been reduced to but a few square feet of Manhattan real estate? Now, it was even smaller than that: a claustrophobic collection of the molecules which comprised his body. Loki hated the way he his skin felt, knowing it was where he came to an _end_.

He have to have been a glutton for pain, thought Loki, as he masochistically lifted his palm once more, but magic, he had learned, was perniciously addictive. To separate the physical from the metaphysical was to cause a kind of bodily chaos, a panic, and it responded with acute distress. It demanded it be given what it was so convinced it needed to keep the heart pumping, the brain firing. _Where is it? Where has it gone? Where is the thing which I cannot do without?_

His hand began to quiver under the strain, with veins bulging in his arm. Loki’s vision blurred, his stomach rolled, but he pushed his conscious further and further inward, into the recesses of what was starting to feel like a vast, interior cavern. An blood-chilling emptiness. His pulse had an echo.

There had to be something left. If only he delved deeply enough, he could find it. It was only sleeping. He would wake it up!

Loki began to see spots before the rapidly dimming backdrop of the bedroom. He squeezed his eyes shut against them, but they remained, and his head started to throb.

“Find it…” He heard the growl of his voice as though it was coming from somewhere far separated from himself. “Find it, you worthless--!”

With a sharp pain at the back of his skull, Loki cried out. The cavern caved in upon itself. The floor beneath his legs seemed to vanish, reappearing seconds later as it struck his forehead and, like a bell, set his ears rang. Fresh pain wracked his body from head to toe. It was searing agony, like fire. He spat the taste of blood from his mouth.

Loki screamed in pain, a roar of pure, boiling rage, bestial and base.  Yet the cry inside would not be outdone.  It screamed all the louder, more determined than before. _Where is it? Why did you stop? Find it! Give me what I need!_

His breath came in ragged pulls.  Loki knew he would tear himself apart if he delved any deeper.  He slid his palms across the floor, trying to claim some semblance of balance, inching toward the wall.

He rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to the ceiling.  The colors transmuted from shades of gray to blurry browns, and slowly, very slowly, the world came back into focus.  His body flattened out along the floor.

His breath was still far beyond his ability to catch it, pulsating through him in uneven heaves.  Loki had no choice but to endure the frantic, internal shriek. Perhaps madness was indeed setting in, because he could almost literally hear it now: like a desperate child, like an infant’s high-pitched wailing.  And what did a child want, except his mother?  Loki swallowed, nearly choking.  The Mother.  The mysterious force which kept the child alive, fed him, kept him warm, loved him.  And what if the mother did not come when the child cried?  An infant did not have the capacity understand.  To not be instantaneously gratified was to plunge into the despair of utter abandonment.

He clenched his teeth. Strange did not know what he had taken, but he hated him for it, as intensely as he had ever hated any creature.  Even this void was only a temporary state, Loki concluded that his hatred would remain far beyond the human's pathetically short lifespan.

Loki did not care that he could not walk between worlds nor pull clothing from inter-dimensional pockets. Damn all of that. Let Strange keep it. But his magic was all of that remained of his mother and to lose that…

_~You might want to take the stairs to the left.~_

Bitter, petty words. A few seconds of weakness, and the cost?

_~Did she suffer?~_

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and turned onto his side.

As a child, he would stretch a hand forward, listen to her instruction, and delve into the germinating magic within. If nothing happened, when there was only a void at his fingertips, then Frigga would take his hand and fold it in her own, center his scattered, boyish mind, and show him the way. The magic she had to share was ancient, and Loki, who had already begun to suspect that he might never match his brother in brute force or his father in severity, wanted nothing more than to be his mother’s perfect student, to make someone in his family proud.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

Frigga's magic had been his only true, material connection to Asgard.  What could not be his by blood had become his by rite of passage, and Strange had no right to steal from an entire race what his mother had given him to protect.  He tightened his fist until his fingers ached.

He would never belong to Asgard, but he would always carry was Frigga had given to him.  Or so Loki believed.  

_~Did she suffer?~_

In the end, Loki had not been able to save her. He could only avenge her, and then spend a veritable eternity cursed, wondering if the culprit he should have exacted vengeance upon was himself.

 

* * *

 

For a long while, Loki lied there, wrapped in his towel, recovering from the shock of pain until it subsided and felt more like resting. He could have fallen to sleep if he gave himself the time, but some sound or another roused him, and once his eyes opened, they remained so. The sun was coming through the window full force by now, illuminating the room, casting shadows beneath the bed he faced, which happened to be Thor’s. He did not feel peaceful, but his mind slowed to a less ragged pace  Memories of Frigga came and went, in and out, like the water that surrounded the archipelago which Loki could literally hear in the distance.  

He thought about New York, across much larger waters, and what might be happening. Was the meeting still going on?  Loki detested being in the dark.  Could they see him now? Perhaps they would take pity.

Oh, but no, that thought did _not_ sit well. Like a pinch between his ribs, Loki bristled at the idea, smiling a grim smile.  He would not give them the satisfaction; no, he would rise and face what remained of the morning, wrapped in his towel if that was all he had, or perhaps trade it for a blanket.

“I mean, really,” he murmured to himself, still half-smiling, “Where was I going to go, anyway?”  If his mother were there, Loki thought of how she would have laughed along with him at that.  They had always shared a dark sense of humor.  

Still, it was a challenge to rise  _immediately_.  The floor had become surprisingly comfortable.  It felt good to have something solid beneath him, and there was strength left to gather.

He peered beneath Thor’s bed, noting the balls of dust. Far too many of them. He sighed.  No wonder his brother snored.  It was a godly feat that he could breathe at all.

But… Now, what was this?

Loki examined the slatted wood which supported the mattress, or rather, on something which seemed not to belong, something like a box, attached to the framework of the bed. It stretched for nearly the entire length. It even dangled a little, with some gapping above.

Sitting up with enough swiftness to make himself dizzy, Loki pushed through and circled to the other side. His eyes grew wide. His smile grew wider.

What he had discovered was a _drawer_.

The tiny room had no need of closets and chests for storage, because the storage itself was part of the bed. How infuriatingly clever, or simply infuriating, but Loki’s heart was fluttering in his throat.

He knelt, draping the towel across his knees, and hooked his long fingers beneath a pair of notches that served as handles. He gave it as strong a yank as he could, revealing the most lovely sight Loki was certain he had ever laid eyes upon: layers upon layers of denim and cotton, overwashed and faded, a veritable shine to Thor’s lazy Midgardian fashion sense. Loki nearly bowed his head in prayer.

It was all going to be too big, but it did not take much rifling until he found cotton pants -- sweats, but not quite so bulky -- with a drawstring. Loki hastily threw them on, leaving behind his towel once and for all, pulled the string taught and tied a knot. It draped a bit awkwardly, but at least his hands were finally free. He picked a t-shirt an random and threw it on, as well.

His breath quickened from the exertion. Loki sat on the edge of Thor’s bed, facing the window, with his chest rising and falling quickly, but his cheekbones ached from satisfied smiling. Small victories indeed.

Through the slats of the window blinds, he could see the mountains beyond the fjord. Everything was glittering: the flecks of precious minerals in the stone; the snow caps and the white, veiny tendrils that hugged the face of the rock; the water, as waves mimicked with miniature peaks of foam. The day was exceptionally bright, enough to make his eyes water, but it suddenly looked so pretty that Loki kept staring. And the air was probably frigid, but the sun cast warm lines over his body, and Loki drank it in.  Or tried to.

In New York, Thor’s meeting had to be well underway. Loki was rarely at these sessions which centered on his fate, but it was all too easy to imagine Ross and Strange attempting to bear down in his brother, as if in any other situation, they might be equally matched. He smirked. Oh, what Loki would pay for a front-row seat to that beating. But the meeting was not war, but a war of words.  It was a  mind game, a mine field. If Thor could keep his head cool, then there was a fair chance all would be well, but if not… It was so obvious to Loki why they had to keep him at a safe distance , even without his arsenal of tricks.

Thor was on his own. Loki felt his throat tighten and he absentmindedly scratched the center of his palm.

His brother was no fool, he knew that; he believed that, but Thor was so far away and Loki felt… Damn it all, not everything had to be complicated: he simply did not want to be alone.  If what belonged to Frigga had truly been drained from him, then Thor was the last connection to something beyond his own skin that Loki retained.

He looked down in to his open palm, so full of nothing.

And with a heavy sigh, he squeezed it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual from me, but I wanted to hone in on Loki's mental/emotional state -- and what he's going through physically, as well. Generally speaking, I just find the way he deals with pain to be so heartbreaking at times, even when he's fighting through it. Especially when he's fighting through it. 
> 
> If you continue to enjoy this fic of mine, I hope you'll leave me a comment. I love chatting about Loki. You can also check me out on Tumblr as [Mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/).


	13. Holografisk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Obviously, I have no idea of what’s going to happen in Endgame, i.e., who will be alive when all is said and done.  For now, let’s assume Tony is still with us, because that makes me happy. Also (SPOILER ALERT) there are heavy rumors that Endgame will involve time travel.  I don’t know what that means as far as retrieving items which were previously destroyed, but for my purposes, I’m going to say Thor doesn’t currently have Mjolnir.

**Chapter 13: Holografisk**

 

General Ross was running behind schedule.

It was either very early or very late at night, depending on how you looked at it.  Thor had been up for hours, but in New York the sky was still dark.

He might have described how he felt as being like a patient in a doctor’s waiting room, had Thor even a remote concept of such an experience.  There was also the fact that the _doctor_ was in the same room, waiting along with him.  Strange, who had returned to his typical tunic and cloak, was playing some sort of game on his phone.  From the corner of his eye, Thor could see brightly colored shapes spin, glitter, and vanish, as the man traced lines across the screen.  It looked repetitive and boring, and Thor hated the fact that he appeared to be so good at it.

He suspected the cloak was helping him cheat, but he could not prove it.

In reality, they were not in a room that resembled an office or waiting room of any sort.  Rather, they were at Stark Tower in what might serve as a small cocktail lounge or reception space under different circumstances.  There was a bar.

A third man was in the room with them: Tony Stark himself, the mad king of the castle which literally bore his name on the exterior, dressed in clothing more appropriate to a sporting event than a meeting of any sort, yet it suited him.   _Youth_ suited him, though the man had much aged since their first meeting.  Everyone had, of those that were given the opportunity to grow old at all.

The Avengers were by and large dispersed, which was a far gentler word than _disbanded_ .  A few had struck up lives close to Stark in New York.  Some kept regular contact. Some were unreachable and seemed intent on staying so until, Thor hoped, they would respond to a worthy need, even those who walked on the other side of the law, or the _Sokovia Accords_.  There had been a long stretch of peace since the war against the Titan Thanos.  Thor did not feel that he could not blame anyone for seeing to their obligations, their private lives, their freedom; he had other places to be, as well.

Even Thor had not seen Stark’s face in at least a month.  Typically, when he required transport to Norway -- for without Mjolnir, flight across the ocean was too haphazard -- arrangements were made through text message and a private jet was chartered.  Their brief exchanges, however, were more always more than merely cordial. They were light, they had inside jokes, they used a familiar shorthand. Thor and Stark were friends.

Though on paper, they might have been better suited as enemies.  The terms of Loki’s “captivity” bore deep ties to the _Sokovia Accords_ , constraints which bound the Avengers and their assets in red tape and subverted their allegiance to the common good, forcing them to await approval from… In honesty, Thor had never been able to wrap his head around just who was in charge.  The United Nations was allegedly a global Midgardian organization, but certain countries seemed to have much more power than others. The only person Thor concerned himself with was General Thaddeus Ross, the American Secretary of State, and the UN’s chief arbiter of the Sokovia Accords.

In the matter surrounding Loki, Strange was merely a mystical executor.  It was Ross who held his brother’s fate in his palm.

But Stark had been instrumental in how the Accords came to be and how they were set in place among the Avengers.  Thor had been far from Midgard at the time, in other realms, accomplishing things which were arguably more important to the security of the cosmos.  But Thor found it difficult to fault anyone for fighting for what they believed was righteous, least of all Stark. Even a good man could make a terrible decision.  Thor made them all the time.

Failing to right a sinking ship, however, that was something Thor had trouble understanding.  The Accords were not working. That they were still in place was a mystery. And Stark himself had become a thorn in Ross’s side when it came to enforcing _Registration_.

Thor had witnessed, more than once, Stark show his brother kindness, even though he knew for certain that the man disliked Loki on the whole.  Or so he claimed. His actions told a different story. It seemed, in the grand scheme of things, Stark hated Loki less than he hated walking away from someone in need.

The work of undoing the Titan’s destruction had been messy, not every injury was able to be reversed.  Loki was alive, but his mind harbored the memory of death, causing what Thor would describe as flashbacks, although it had been explained to him many times that that was not _exactly_ the case.  They were not flashbacks, they were something else.  Thor had been at an infuriating loss to help his brother, but Stark understood.  He had sympathy, which neither brother expected, and he imparted knowledge to Loki when no one else seemed able, or willing.

Thor could no longer look at Stark without seeing his brother, as well.  He as glad he would be part of this meeting.

Thor and Strange sat on opposite ends of a long chaise lounge.  Stark was across from them in a plushly lined, egg-shaped chair, his ankle crossed over his knee.  He swiveled this way and that, clearly as bored as Thor was anxious, and their twitchy body language was much the same.  Their eyes met occasionally, nothing being said, until something abruptly was.

“Anybody want a drink?” asked Stark.

“Nope.”  Strange placed a strong pop on the _P,_ not looking up from his game.

But Stark’s eyes had been on Thor, as though he had never truly been offering alcohol to the entire room anyway.  With a tip of his head, he gestured to the bar and hopped out of his egg-chair. Thor followed.

A switch was flipped and the warm lighting along the bar came to life.  Stark pawed through the bottles on the shelf. “What’ll it be, Storm Chaser? You need ‘em extra strong, right?  Triple shot?”

Thor pulled a heavy breath and glanced across his shoulder at Strange.  “Actually, I’d prefer to keep my wits about me,” he said in gravelly tone of voice that bordered on a murmur.

Bowing his head in understanding, Stark plucked a bottle with something clear inside and poured two short glasses.  “It’ll have to be neat. Ice machine isn’t on.”

Thor shrugged.  He did not care for ice in his drinks, anyway.  Taking one of the two glasses, he leaned on the bar.  Stark looked the same as always, somehow brimming with energy and beyond exhausted, both at once.  “A bit early for this, is it not?”

“Pft,” went Stark.  “That’s assuming I’ve been to sleep.”

Thor smiled half-heartedly at the man and tipped back his drink, which tasted of bitter orange.

When he put down his glass, Stark was engaged in something which took Thor by surprise, simple though it was: he was writing something down.  Perhaps it struck Thor as odd because he was certain he had never seen the man use an actual pen and paper before, but from some unseen shelf beneath the bar, he had produced those very implements.  The paper was the sort that came packaged in square blocks, dyed vibrant colors, commonly yellow. They had adhesive along one edge. One typically made use of them for short notes, tore them free of the block, and stuck them wherever they needed to be visible.

Yet Stark wrote in swift, furtive movements, nary making a sound.  In fact, Thor did not realize just how quiet Stark’s hand was until after he likewise passed him the message with deftness of a secret agent.  And then he suddenly asked, as if there were no surreptitious goings on, “So, what’s it like in Norway this time of year?” He sipped his drink, casual as ever.

Thor read the message on the page, his brow tightly drawn.  His fingers grazed the fringe of his mustache.

**_[Doctor Feel Good said he incapacitated your bro while we’re meeting. True?]_ **

Thor lifted his eyes and, though he was still puzzled by what was happening, gave a nod.  “We’ve had some bad weather,” he replied, tentatively.

“That’s unfortunate.”  Stark frowned. He finished what was left in his glass and, picking up the pen a second time, began writing on the next clean sheet of paper.  He handed off the new note and continued to speak of very unrelated things. “They celebrate Halloween over there?”

It was another question: **_[Was this university incident that bad?]_ **

Thor cleared his throat, following with ease this time.  He took the pen and silently wrote his response: **_[It has already been resolved amongst ourselves]_** And then answered Stark’s question, “I think so.  There are decorations”

Stark read and nodded.  “Pepper and I host a charity ball every year.  Lavish costumes only. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going as her.”

He handed Thor another slip of paper.   **_[Cora Eriksen good friend?]_ **

Thor frowned.  Were they truly so obsessed with catching Loki in a trap, any trap at all, that they were determined to make such mountains out of personal matters?

“That, uh…  That sounds like a terrible idea,” his reply felt loosely from his lips as he scribbled on the next sheet of paper.   **_[Yes]_ **

Stark only had a second to glance at it before before an electronic chirrup sounded.  Thor dropped his pen, startled. Everyone looked up. It was a flinty woman’s voice Thor heard next, coming from an unseen speaker.  “Sir?”

“Yeah, FRIDAY?” said Stark.

“General Ross is ready to connect via holographic interface.”

“Right.  Patch him through.”  With a swift motion, Stark gathered all of the used sticky notes and crumpled them up, tossing them into a waste basket beneath the bar.

 

* * *

 

Loki had sunk to a new low: he was voluntarily drinking coffee.

To be accurate, he was not so much drinking it as he was pressing the warm mug against his forehead, using the heat as a salve for his body’s general ache.  Slurps were being taken, however, and the cup was already half-drained. He was seated at the little kitchen table, picking at some toast, as well. The appetite he had was meager, but that he had one at all, Loki took as a sign that some part of him was beginning to work properly.

So if the machine was indeed still running, then he wanted to be smart about it, which meant keeping the fires stoked, keeping himself moving, even if it only meant flexing his hands for now.

The caffeinated properties of the coffee were doing their job in a most unexpected way.  Loki had started drinking the disgusting beverage simply for a kick of energy, something to help keep him upright, and in that regard, it was working.  But it also seemed to be tricking his corporeal body into thinking that access to his magic had been restored. It was not true, of course; Loki had tested himself.  The ravenous internal screaming, however, was subsiding, as if it had been fed. It was remarkable. Loki did not know what to make of it and he still disliked coffee, but he was not about to turn his nose up at a blessing.

He took another slurp, swallowed with a faint gag, and stuck out his tongue.

In Thor’s clothing, he appeared more frail than he actually felt by this point.  The fabric hung on his frame like blankets on a clothesline. Really, what they looked like were oversized pajamas.  But they were not _un_ comfortable and they kept his clammy skin from sticking to everything.  They were fine for now.

Loki glanced at the clock, wondering where Thor was, wondering how long all of this was going to take.  Already it seemed like too long. There was a window beside the clock, a window which faced west. Loki could not see the sun, but the sky was blue and the bay kissed the horizon in the distance.  Somewhere, in that general direction, was New York.

As if on cue, though still managing to give Loki a start, there was a knock at the door.  He rose at once from his chair, which grated against the floor with a loud scoot. His eyes were wide and expectant.

And then, Loki paused.  Thor had no reason to knock.  Even if Strange had made the nonsensical decision to set him down on the front porch rather than inside, he still had a key to his own apartment.  Loki could not imagine that after everything that had happened, Thor would simply knock and not sound his arrival, loudly. Nothing followed the knock but silence.

With a heavy brow, Loki padded across the room in his bare feet.  He lifted his hand to the knob, hovering just beyond making contact.  There was a window with drawn blinds beside him. He took a step to the left and parted a row with his index finger.  The lightweight slats of wood clattered against one another, creating a short melody of hollow-sounding clunks.

It was Cora on the other side.  She tilted her face up to his and lifted her hand in greeting, a tilted smile on her lips.  Loki moved a few more of the blinds away from his face, so that he could see her without obstruction.

“Did we have plans to meet again so early?” he asked through the glass.

She shook her head.  “I think I left my phone here.  Would you mind if I had a look?”

Loki experienced a faint tightening of this throat. He glanced down at what he was wearing, how it hung on him like a scarecrow’s costume, how small Thor's clothing made him feel.  It was true that he felt less like death, but he still rather resembled someone encroaching upon it.

She would have every right to ask questions.  He closed his eyes for a moment and attempted to make his peace.  At least he was not answering the door in merely a towel. Really, was this that much worse than his presentation the night before?

Yes.  Yes, it was.  Loki was on the cusp of accepting than he was far more vain than he had ever paused to consider, and he did not care for it.  It felt like a weakness. It was only Cora, after all. Had he not awoken to her this morning with fabric lines pressed into her red cheek and a line of drool down her chin?

Loki nearly laughed.  Then, with a resigned sigh, he pulled open the door.

Cora entered, speaking quickly.  “Sorry, I checked the cafe and it wasn’t there, so I assume it’s probably somewhere in your sofa cushions.”

Her voice was still horse, but less so.  She had put herself nicely back together, wearing her black boots, as always, but everything else was pressed and new: a forest green sweater dress this time.  She seemed a fan of those. She had a different coat, one that was not so thick as the one she had been wearing. The open door allowed the slightly warmer weather to make itself known.

Loki closed the door, unceremoniously revealing his ragged state, but prepared to pretend all was well for as long as he could drag it out.  There was a beat of awkward silence between them, though he he attempted to convince himself that it was possibly imagined. Her eyebrows lifted reflexively; he watched her fight the impulse by scratching at her forehead for no other discernible reason.  Or perhaps it itched. What did he know?

But Cora certainly appeared to be working her jaw, considering her words, before swallowing abruptly and hooking her thumb over her shoulder.  “I’ll go take a look, then?”

Loki waved a hand with a flourish.  “Dig to your heart’s content.”

Cora’s nose wrinkled as she turned away.  He watched the back of her head shake from side-to-side.

His flourish had caused a cramp to snake down his forearm.  Loki massaged it out while she was distracted, and taking a breath, he walked to the table, where he had left his mug and plate of toast crusts.  Cora crouched low and started digging though the cushions. He watched her for a moment, wondering if the phone might turn up quickly. When it did not, he turned his face to the table, picked up the flatware, and carried it to the sink.

“Just be sure to make the bed when you’re done,” he called over his shoulder.

A ringing laugh burst from the direction of the sofa.  Hearing it over the sound of the running water brought Loki some genuine cheer for the first time since waking, or at least since discovering Thor’s drawer full of clothing.  Cora smiled easily, but getting more than a chuckle out of her took a bit of work. Loki was still taking his victories where he could get them.

“And here it is!” she chirped.

“Congratulations,” he replied, with more sincerity that he might have offered.  Finished with his washing, he gave his aching wrists a shake and lingered where he stood, letting the tepid water run over them.  It felt nice, so nice that he closed his eyes and gave his mind permission to wander. The sound of the trickling was familiar. He thought of fountains nestled in secluded grottoes within the labyrinthine Royal Gardens and spring afternoons spent beside them, lazily reading, or occasionally stripping down to take a dip when the mood struck.

“Battery’s dead, of course” she announced.

The statement tugged him back into the reality at hand, quite literally, as he looked down into his palms.  Loki winced. Taking a towel, he turned to face her, drying his fingers. “Yes, well… Happens to the best of us.”

Cora stiffened, her fingers coming to a pause over the surface of her phone as she lifted her gaze.

Loki pulled a breath through his nose and readied himself.  He was short-circuiting the awkwardness, because it was pointless, and vain, to pretend that everything was fine, that he was the consummate picture of health.  If Cora had not already realized something was gravely amiss, though it was quite obvious that she had, then she would soon enough, when they visited the next stave church and he could no longer break the locks.

She began to cross the room toward him, fiddling with feigned interest in her phone, raising her eyes every few steps.  Loki felt the same tightening in his throat as he had before. He attempted to distract from it by pressing his nails firmly into the flesh of his palm, until he felt a sharp pinch.

The inevitability of a conversation was not, in reality, a threat.  Sending Cora back home would have been a simple task, or at least, not an impossible one.  She had been as tenacious as Thor the previous night, but if he truly had no desire to talk about what brought him to this state, then he would not talk about it.  With regard to that, Loki had no reason to doubt himself. It might be as simple as saying he was sick and going no further.

The problem was, Loki _did_ want to talk.  He had been alone through the morning, not simply alone, but lonely, and ill.  The closer Cora drew, the more the desire to unpack his mind pressed upon him, until there was nothing left to call it but an _ache_.  He hated the cognitive dissonance of it all.  He felt weak and he detested how obvious it had to have been.  He watched her tentative approach, the sincere interest in his well-being which she fought to conceal.  She reminded him of someone preparing to request a dance, a thought which tugged at his lips with an ill-timed twitch and seemed to seal his fate.

Cora came to a stop little more than an arm’s length away, still in the midst of a debate within herself.  “What’s going on?” she asked, slipping her dead phone into her pocket. “Are you sick?”

“Not exactly.”

Her concern only seemed to grow.  “What is it, then?”

By now, Loki had been scraping at his palm long enough to have left several welts.  He forced his hands to part, shaking them out as they hung at his sides. “What has Thor said to you about why we’re on Earth in the first place?”

“He said you’re being observed for a while.  I think he said it was a year. Like a kind of house arrest.”

Loki nodded, sourly; he had grown to hate that term.  “You might be wondering how you keep a sorcerer under house arrest.”

She dipped her forehead with a thoughtful nod.  “The thought had occurred to me.”

He sighed.  “You see, it’s very simple.  You merely build a prison which can contain the sorcerer and then you trick him into walking in of his own accord.”

Cora’s brow knit.  “I’m not sure I understand.  How did they trick you? Who?  Who was it who tricked you?”

 

* * *

 

The holographic image of Thaddeus Ross stood, or rather, _sat_ at the end of the lounge.  Thor and Stark had reclaimed their places, and Stark indulged himself with swiveling in his egg-chair.  The interface worked by recording everyone at the same time. Little cameras along the wainscoting blinked and re-calibrated themselves which each movement.

In whatever room he was physically present, somewhere in Washington, D.C., Ross appeared to be seated at a table.    He was an imposing man, for a human, without being particularly tall or large by any standard. In fact, he was quite average-looking.  He was, however, a man of power, a power he flexed with righteous self-composure. Throw him fire, he returned with ice. Rumor was, he had not always been this way, that he had a heart condition that forced him to measure each and every emotion.  Thor have never known this younger version of the man, but maybe it was true. His heart did not seem to be in anything he did.

Thor assumed that Ross could see them as though they were in the same room, perhaps seated along the same table, forging intimacy.  He did not like these meetings conducted across great distances. It gave everything a computerized feel. He wondered if Stark was rotating back and forth to subvert the tension.

Strange was speaking, giving his account of the events which led up to the incident in Trondheim.  It was the same story he had given at the diner, where he was alerted once Loki left Seine and spied on his actions at the university.  He used different words, of course, but the story matched Loki’s version of the events, which Thor was more pleased to hear than he would have admitted in such company.  His brother really had sat down with Dr. Ida Berg and posed as Cora’s would-be betrothed, if only he could manage to track her down.

“Not a bad plan,” commented Tony.

Thor sighed.  His lungs were started to hurt from sighing, and the intermittent holding of his breath.  Thus far, he had not spoken. Loki’s parting advice sat with him like a more tangible presence than Ross could ever hope to be, and he was on guard.  There was something about all of this which stunk to Valhalla and Thor was determined not to be the first to step in it.

Strange was reaching the end of his tale.  “And then Loki left the bedroom of the apartment, behaved as if nothing had happened, and invited Thor to lunch.”

“And where did you go?” asked Ross, dryly turning a page within a pale folder.

Thor shrugged and cleared his throat.  “Gud Brot. It’s a restaurant in the town.  It was Loki’s choice. It’s fairly trendy.”

“Sounds nice,” commented Strange, who was apparently still bitter about being taken to the dive for breakfast.

Ross picked up a pen and jotted something down, most likely the name of the restaurant, though Thor did not see why it was an important detail.  “And from there, what happened?”

Strange did not reply.

“Thor?” prompted Ross.

The Asgardian frowned.  “What happened when?”

Ross seemed to smirk.  It might have been a trick of the hologram re-calibrating itself, but that was doubtful.  “Loki confiscated a photograph and brought it with him to show you.”

Thor clenched his jaw.  Frankly, he wanted to clamp his hands around Ross’s throat -- or that of Strange.  Either would do. The words were meant to get a rise out of him, and in that they were successful, but he would not show it.

“He didn’t confiscate anything.  It was given to him,” said Thor, as he cooled, measuring his tone.  But the victory went sour in his mouth no sooner had the words parted from his lips.  He had slipped.

He had put himself on record admitting the existence of the photograph.  The warmth drained from his face.

This time, there was no questioning Ross’s smile.  He placed his paperwork to the side and folded his hands.  “Loki _had_ a photograph.  Would you mind telling us what was so important about it that he needed to show you right away?”

One-by-one, they had brought up Cora: first Strange, then Stark, and now it would be Ross.  Thor had assumed their focus was on Loki, as it always was, that they were only mentioning her by name to recount his brother’s slight against her, but until now, Thor had not considered the possibility that it might be she who was of greater concern to them.

But they know about the photograph already, which meant Strange had spied on his conversation with Loki in the restaurant, and from there he had probably followed them to Cora’s cafe, and from there to her and Loki’s conversation while he slept.

Thor’s felt the heat of his anger drain out of him, leaving his body cold, heavy, and limp.  “I, uh… I--”

“Hey, can I say something?”

It was Stark, who had ceased swiveling in his chair, judging by the otherwise silent room.  Thor could not immediately peel his eyes from Ross’s face of stone to look at his friend, if he was indeed still his friend.

“What’s with the song and dance?” Stark continued without the permission for which he had so rhetorically asked.  “It’s like you’re putting the guy on trial. You want information about his friend, right? This Cora Eriksen? What’s taking so long?”

Again, no one answered.  Ross exchanged a quick glance with Strange, which prompted Thor to turn his wide-eyed attention to Stark, who had risen to his feet.

He pointed his finger toward his temple and gave it a swirl.  “Oh right! I forgot. We’re all honorable people here, just following protocol.”

Ross tilted his head up and stared down Tony with annoyance that looked painful to keep at bay.  Even the bluish hologram betrayed a flush of color across his cheeks. “As a matter of fact, Tony, yes.  We are.”

“Except that just because you wrote a bunch of guidelines on how to handle stuff on a piece of paper doesn’t make it right.”

Ross’s nostrils flared.  “Tony, why don’t you drop your own song and dance and let us get back to what we came here to do.”

“What _we_ came here to do,” said Stark, returning to his seat, as he gestured to the others in the lounge.  “You’re just phoning it in.”

Strange rolled his eyes with an audible sigh.  Thor fought against the smile which rose to his lips, flushing his cheeks with warmth.  Yes, he was very glad Stark was his ally. And once more, he reminded him a little of Loki, who likewise had a knack for leveling the playing field when the odds were against him, or merely annoying.

Stark went on.  “Is this some kind of new angle you’re trying out?  Treat Thor like a criminal until you guilt him into...what?  Talking this Eriksen-person into Registration?” He gave a mocking laugh.  “What, It’s worked so well on his brother that you’re gonna give it a shot with the big guy--”

“That’s enough!” protested Ross, raising his hand, showing the first bit of fire Thor had seen since the meeting began.

Strange leaned in, stabbing at Stark with his eyes.  “Loki poses a potential threat, he gets dealt with as a potential threat.  What part of this do you two not understand?”

But Thor’s ire had piqued, and his voice carried above the both of them.   “That is what you want?” he shouted above the din. Suddenly, he had everyone’s attention.  “Registration for Cora?”

The atmosphere in the room at last became silent and heavy, like a lumbering beast coming to rest of their midst.  Chewing the back of his tongue, Ross’s stare lingered on Thor. “We just want some information about her.”

Thor’s wide, angry eyes moved from Ross to Strange and back to Ross.  “So none of this is actually about Loki?”

Ross lifted his brows.  “Well, what he did isn’t exactly the kind of behavior we want to see.”

Stark snorted.  Ross ignored it.

Thor had his answer.

“If you’ve been watching me, then you know as much as I,” he said in a low, guttural voice that bordered on an actual growl.  The beast which had come into their presence might very well have been his growing anger, now scarcely held at bay. “Even she doesn’t know what she is.  You want to know how easy it will be to force her to Register?”

“No one is forced to Register,” asserted Ross.

Thor swallowed what felt like pure fire.  “I was. And you treat my brother like a villain--”

“How do you keep forgetting what he did?” cut in Strange.

“I do not forget he did!” Thor shouted.

Ross’s holographic image sputtered in response to the static that mounted on the God of Thunder’s brow.  Thor dragged a deep breath to stabilize himself, lest he cut off the interface.

He went on, not calm, but no longer at the mercy of his own temper.  “You act as if I blind myself my brother’s past in order to see him in some white-washed, preferable manner, that I need to re-write Loki’s story in order to tell it.  You forget that I have known my brother for what equates to over a thousand of your years. I have seen every shade of him. I will never forget what happened in New York, because I will never cease to question what I might have done to keep Loki away from Thanos’s influence.  In your records, I have told you about what has happened since the invasion, how Loki has sacrificed his very life for my protection, and yours. But you blot that out, because you did not witness it. My word once met something on Midgard. It seems that was very long ago.”

Thor’s words hung in the air and for a while, no one dared to speak.  Even Stark’s swiveling had stopped once again.

At length, Strange blasted air through his nose.  “All right. Can I just get one thing out in the open?”

Ross gestured that he had the floor.

“Thor, you strike me as a man who likes rules.  Personally, I’m not crazy about them, but I do my best.  I only found out Cora Eriksen even _existed_ because of Loki’s misadventure at the University in Trondheim.  I was alerted, I had a responsibility to keep watching. To us, she’s nothing but a question mark, and that means a potential threat.  We ignore that, then no one’s doing their job, least of all _me._ And that includes making sure Loki stays where he's supposed to be while we're here, figuring out what to do next.”

Thor stretched his fingers to keep them from balling into fists.  "You know how sick it makes him."

Strange noted it with a flick of his gaze.  “I do.  I'm a doctor; I don't enjoy causing him pain, but it's what we all agreed to, even Loki, and it's temporary.  We're dealing with a specific, special set of circumstances here.  But let's focus on your friend.  Are you really going to pretend that you weren’t shocked to discover that she’s over a hundred years old?  I don’t enjoy being forced turn in for your brother’s late-night chats. It’s embarrassing for everyone involved.  We are here to discuss how to proceed in the least invasive way possible, going forward.” He made a frustrated, sweeping gesture in the direction of Stark.  “And if it wasn’t for Tony’s outburst, we would have gotten around to that by now.”

Ross had pressed his back against his chair, hands folded over his waist, an observer for the moment.  Thor turned to Stark, whose head was bowed and who appeared to be examining his hands, while the veins in his temples pulsated and danced.

“What do you mean, ‘least invasive?’” ask Thor.

Ross shifted his weight.  “Thor, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re an alien.  You’re in a better position that anyone else to figure out where she might come from, if indeed she isn’t human.  We’ll give you a few days, in good faith, and you try to pin down where she comes from. We’re only concerned with the safety of this little planet of ours.  Either she’s part of Asgard’s jurisdiction or ours.”

“Good faith?” questioned Thor.  A fire was sparking to life in his belly.

“No observation,” said Strange.  “To give you some peace of mind. And to give me a break.”

Stark lifted his head, meeting Thor’s eye.  The same spark flashed and he held his friend’s gaze.

He wondered what Loki would do, were he in the room, instead of an ocean away.  Through the windows of the lounge, Thor could see no ocean, but he knew east by the position of the rising sun.

As he turned to regard Ross, his shoulders relaxed with an impish smile.  “No.”

Ross laughed, though he fought it, so much so that it caused him to cough.  “No?”

“I have other terms,” said Thor.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony begin to swivel in his egg-chair.  “I want to negotiate the immediate release of my brother from this wizard’s spells.  His powers restored. He’s done his time on Earth.”

“Almost,” protested Strange, though it nearly earned him an icy glare from Ross.

The former General, current Secretary of State, and chief arbiter of the Sokovia Accords learned forward over the desk which no one in New York could fully see.  His face was blank, for a moment, and then he began to speak.  “Strange is right. Loki’s term has not yet come to an end.  If we set him free, what’s to keep both of you from flying back to New Asgard, possibly taking Ms. Eriksen with you?”

“Good faith,” replied Thor.  “Though it would save you a lot of trouble in the long run if we permanently left your hair, you wouldn’t really want us to do that.  In the short term, I imagine it would be challenging to your political career to have lost tabs on the _alien_ who once waged war on New York.  Sorry, _reformed_ alien, along with this potential new threat.”

Stark barked a sudden laugh, like an exclamation point.

“Alright, Thor,” said Ross.  “Let’s talk.”


	14. Deiserens Nye Klær

Cora was not convinced that what appeared to be happening was actually real.

Her exhaustion was well beyond her and nothing seemed completely solid.  Through her bleary eyes, the somewhat familiar surroundings of Thor and Loki’s rental were slightly fuzzy around the edges, soft and pillow-like.  Factor in that Loki was telling stories about legal proceedings conducted via hologram and doctors with magical powers, and you had one hell of a dreamscape.

And that Loki was sharing these things with her _at all_ , sitting on the same sofa where they had recently passed out together, he still wearing his, well, they were not the _same_ pajamas as before, but they were loungewear of some sort.

There no true mystery as to why Cora questioned whether she might still be asleep.

“So when they do this to you…” she began, working hard to digest the metaphysical nature of what Loki was explaining.  She paused, took a breath, and calibrated her thoughts. “When they separate you from your magic, it has the same effect as if you had the flu?”

I don’t know how the flu feels,” he said.  “I see commercials for inoculations on the television…”  
  
Loki lifted his shoulders in a shrug, fluttering the sleeves of the oversized red t-shirt he wore.  Cora was curious as to why his clothes were different, and why they were so ill-fitting, but she had not pointed it out.  It had to be humiliating to feel so reduced. Everything about his manner suggested that he was intensely uncomfortable.

“I feel better now than when I woke,” he continued, squinting his eyes at her, reading her pensive frown, and…  Was it inconceivable that he might be attempting to reassure her? Or was this a look of annoyance?

Either way, it meant his defensive nature was at play.  He seemed to hate being seen as sick even more than the sickness itself, which was unsurprising, given the nature of what he had lost and the sense of control had to have gone out the window along with it.

Cora supposed she could relate, in a cockeyed sort of way.  She had felt undressed in an instant when that old photograph turned up on her coffee counter.  The fact remained, however, that Loki had been the one sliding it across the stone, staring at her down with the eyes of a hawk.

It still stung, in the cold light of day, without the magnanimous effects of the Asgardian gin coursing through her.  She was trying not to think about it, wary of mistaking her compassion for trust. Loki was, perhaps literally, the archetype of unpredictability.

He went on.  “The worst of it will fade in a few days.  I may even see some of my abilities return once everything settles.  Though the perfect scenario would be that Thor convinces them to reverse what they’ve done.”

Cora drifted into even deeper silence.  Her skin felt like it was crawling as her mind waded through the muck of everything he had explained, puzzling over the emotions that swelled in her chest, the sympathy, the growing indignation.  Was it still unreasonable to wonder if he deserved the likes of that from her? A kind of truce had been struck between them, but the pain of yesterday was fresh.

The muscles of her stomach clenched like a fist.

What it really was, was that compassion and her sense of justice were at war.

She could recall thinking about how Loki looked peaceful while he slept.  It had been melancholic, knowing how severe his face would become during waking hours.  He looked that way now, all points and angles, a heavy weight on his brow. Last night, it was as if she caught a glimpse of what he could be like, had he not elected to live in his emotional watchtower, so high above everything.

She had been drunk, of course, not fully in control of her mind.  Maybe none of what she thought she saw had been real.

But he did give her that list.  That was real.

The sick irony of it all was that he _had_ been attacked while his defenses were down, in sleep.  The longer Cora thought about it, the more her skin burned, and the more she hated the cowardice of it all.

She had been silent for so long that he was beginning to stare.  Cora shook her head. “You’re taking it much more calmly than I would.”

Loki gave a grim chuckle.  “You should have seen me earlier,” he replied, after which he paused and ran his tongue across his teeth.  “Or perhaps not.”

Cora lifted her legs and folded them beneath herself, taking care not to brush her dirty boots against the cushions.  She propped her body against the back of the sofa. “But even if Thor has them undo what they did today, you still wouldn’t have _everything_ back, right?  It would only revert to how you were just before this happened because you’re still on probation or whatever they’re calling it.”

Loki pressed his lips together and bobbed his head.

An errant lock of hair had fallen in front of her eyes.  Cora swept it back and clenched it in her fist. Her chest rose and fell sharply.  “It makes me angry,” she said. “It makes me furious, actually. And to do it while you were sleeping, so that you just wake up like this.”

“I agreed to their terms, I gave them permission to do...”  His voice trailed off and he abruptly shrugged his back abruptly against the cushions.  He turned his face to the window. “I wish I had some idea of what they’re discussing with Thor.”

Cora felt her throat tighten.  She swallowed against it.  “They know it makes you this sick?”

“They do.”

Cora pressed her knuckles against her mouth, as once again her temper flared.  Cowardly. It was just cowardly.

“At least I confronted you to your face,” she muttered through her fingers.

As he turned to her, the muscles around Loki’s mouth drew back, wrinkling his eyes, and it was good to see him smile, brief though it lasted.  “And that, I appreciate.”

The corners of Cora’s own lips twitched upward, but unlike Loki, it failed to reach her eyes.  “So what is it that you haven’t you been able to do? What’s different?”

“You mean, what have I lost?”  He sighed heavily, with his eyes rolling toward the ceiling in strained thought.  “Let’s see… I am unable to shift into other forms: no disguises, that’s obviously very important to them.  I can’t cloak myself or move unseen. No illusions of any sort that pertain to my person. Until I came to Norway, I couldn’t travel through portals or project myself, but Thor convinced them that I would need that ability to assist him.  I’m confined to Norway, however.”

“So there’s a portal that goes from New York City to Siene?” she asked.

“Not directly, but there is one to Norway, and from there, it’s just a few short connections.”

“Like taking a metaphysical local.”

Loki lifted a quizzical eyebrow.  Cora waved a hand; he ought to ignore her and continue.

He shrugged, taking another deep breath as he adjusted his weight on the sofa.  “I haven’t been able to… Some of this is difficult to describe, now that I’m trying.  It’s a type of _attack,_ to be coarse about it, using what you might call _charged energy._ ”  He made a quick, but elegant flourish with his hand, one that that must have caused him a little pain given that he winced abruptly.

“And that doctor who also uses magic, he was only able to do this because you showed him how?”

“I daresay he couldn’t do it without my help.”  Loki cleared some grit from beneath one of his fingernails, or pretended to, as he covertly massaged his hand.

“But why show him at all?  Why not use your powers to leave the planet?”  Cora could hardly believe the sentences that were coming out of her mouth.

“Because Strange can perform one trick that has no counterspell, he can manipulate time.  He trapped me in a time loop.”

“A time loop?” she repeated.  “Is that what it sounds like?”

With a little shaking of his head, the lines of Loki’s face drew downward, as though a weight was pulling at them.  He opened his mouth and closed it again, and looking at her sideways. He swallowed, hard.

“Imagine the same thirty seconds repeating over and over.  As I said, the way you trick a sorcerer is that you trap him in something he cannot escape by magic.  And then you wait him out. He agrees to your terms because he has no other choice. Or in my case, you come out of the time loop and realize that your brother has negotiated for your freedom under terms that...”  He shook his head. “Seemed generous, by that point.”

Cora hot anger had turned to something more like ice, dense and heavy in the pit of her stomach.  “You repeated the same thirty seconds over and over, and that was how they contained you?”

Loki scratched at his palm.  She was noticing that habit of his more and more often.

“I would fall from some height,” he said, expanding his fingers as though he was letting something fall from them.  His eyes slowly glazed as he stared forward, looking at nothing that existed in the room. “I’d strike the ground. It was a desolate place, wherever it was, like a desert.  I’d have a few seconds to do _something_.  Either attempt to run or study whatever I thought might help.  Eventually, it became more about trying to conjure food and get a bite in before I starved.”

“God…”  Cora hissed, looking away.  Suddenly it was difficult to keep her eyes on his pallid face.  “You’re saying they tortured you.”

Loki did not reply right away.  She could hear the sticky sounds of his dry mouth.

“Yes,” he said, after taking a long breath.  “Yes, it was just like that.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand trail upward, coming to rest at the center of his chest.  She could not see with perfect clarity, but she watched his curious movements as well as she could without turning.  It was as if he had drifted into another world. His fingers lingered there before moving to his neck, and then he must have realized she was watching because he suddenly dropped everything back into his lap.

Cora faced him.  Loki was already facing her, his round eyes slowly coming back into focus as he blinked.

“So what else have you still been able to do until today?” she asked.

Loki turned, looking to the other side of the room, at the bottle which had held the Asgardian gin, now standing on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.   He pointed. “I had access to things I’d hidden away,” he said. “General conjuring wasn’t affected, though I assumed they were keeping an eye on the sort of things I brought out, so I kept that in check.  I really only used it for clothing. Occasionally for food.”

Cora lifted her brows, chuckling before she could keep it in check.  “What?”

Loki appeared surprised by her confusion.  “You saw me change my appearance in the church, while we were on the catwalk.”

Her expression tightened with a cringe.  The memory of his shadowy transformation into battle gear and his imposing horned helmet was tender.  “You mean when you threatened to throw me off?” she reminded with a healthy dose of snark.

“I wasn’t really going to do that, but shall I humor you and say I didn’t mean to scare you?”

“Oh, we both know that would be a lie.”  
  
Loki’s thick brows arched.  “So you prefer total honesty now that you have nothing left to hide?  Is that my prize?”

“Who said I have nothing left to hide?  You’re the one telling me all their secrets.”

“Tisk...” he said, shaking his head.  “I have secrets that span far more centuries than your own.”

She did not doubt it.  And she assumed that not all of them were as pleasant as he was attempting to suggest with his playful candor.  Loki of Asgard: upfront and enigmatic, both at once, at all times. Cora’s lips pursed as she suppressed a smile.

She cleared her throat.  “I guess I thought that was more or less an illusion.  If it’s real clothing, how does it work?”

“In essence, the same way in which I pulled that bottle out of the air.”  He gestured once more to the kitchen window. “Everything I need is tucked away.  I simply put it on as warranted and place it where it is meant to go. Although I can do pure illusions, as well.”

Cora tilted her head to the side, propping her temple against her knuckles.  “It sounds like something you have to time very carefully or you might end up naked for a few seconds.”

Loki snorted.  “That has not happened, yet.  At least, no one has dared to bring it to my attention.”

“It might have made you less intimidating on that catwalk.”  A light chuckle rumbled through her chest.

“Or more so,” Loki came back quickly, so quickly that Cora abruptly coughed, which only appeared to amuse him all the more.  He grinned and relaxed with a sigh.

Bells sounded in the distance, catching their attention.  Together, their faces turned to the window. The ringing signaled the time.  Time for a mid-morning break.

She, too, ought to be leaving soon.

Cora picked at the hem of her dress, giving it a tug over her knee.  “So everything you wear is something you already have.”

“Not everything.  I can make my own clothing, as well, although I usually have to start with some sort of material and build upon it.”  Loki screwed his face, squinting. “I suppose… If I were to explain it in _very_ simplified terms, it amounts to manipulating matter, sometimes on a subatomic level.”

“Right.  Very simple.”

“You’re alter something and duplicate it at the same time.”

“But that’s the same as creating matter, which is… which _should_ be impossible.”  She paused to marvel at how she was defending thermodynamics with a figure of Norse mythology.   _Impossible_ was a concept she would have to redefine.

“If you apply enough energy, you _can_ create particulate matter, you just need an equal amount of what you call antimatter.  The magic supplies the antimatter and energy.”

“That’s still creation,” Cora laughed.  “I think. I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”

“Which is why it is simpler just to call it magic.”  Loki drew little circles in the air with his index finger.  The gesture was on the verge of becoming an in-joke if it was not already.

A second bell sounded from the harbor.   Cora glanced toward the door. It felt like the right time to make her exit.  She turned back toward Loki, ready to bid him some manner of farewell. Originally, the three of them were supposed to meet in the afternoon and plot the next steps of their relic-hunt, but she doubted that would happen.  Loki and Thor had more pressing and serious matters at hand.

Loki sighed and frowned, swallowing hard.  “I wish I had some idea of how long this was going to take.”

“Me, too,” Cora replied.

His eyes betrayed a faint surprise.  He pressed his thumbnail into his palm.

Cora’s eyes flicked downward, tracing the wrinkles of his ill-fitting shirt, and a simple realization finally lit like a match in her tired brain: Loki was wearing Thor’s clothing.  Whatever had happened to his pajamas from the night before was anyone’s guess, but if he had lost his ability to create what he wore, then it stood to reason that he had no choice but to make do with whatever was around.

The thought gave her heart a gentle squeeze.

“What?” asked Loki, after she had been thinking and staring for too long.

Cora clenched and unclenched her fists.  “Would you have any interest in going shopping?  There’s a place in the town I think you would like.”

Loki looked at her dumbly, as though she had just asked him to do something much more extreme.  He pinched the fabric his shirt between his index finger and thumb. Cora tensed as an uncomfortable warmth flushed over her skin, the itchy sensation of immediate regret.

“You probably aren’t feeling up to anything like that,” she said, waving her hand, and she unfolded her legs from beneath her, placing her boots back on the floor.  “I was just thinking--”

“That I look ridiculous?” interrupted Loki, but there was less bite to his tone than Cora expected.  She paused in her escape from the sofa, but he shook his head. “No, I should remain here, in case Thor returns.  Besides, you’re right, I’m not quite up to it. ...But thank you.”

His gratitude edged so closely to bordering on an afterthought, except for the sincerity of the smile that came along with it, a sincerity which caught Cora as off-guard as anything Loki had offered her, both the kind and the unkind things.

“Or…” she said,  “It would be easy to get something you might like.”

Again, Loki’s face drew an abrupt blank, an expression which was fairly surreal.  It nearly resembled the soft, open aspect of how he looked in sleep, and it was almost alarming to see it with his eyes open.

“And when your ability to use magic returns, you could store it in that suspended animation of yours, if you like. ”

The peak of Loki’s Adam’s apple swooped downward as he swallowed.  “No, that’s… Don’t worry about that. When Thor arrives, it’s something he and I could look to doing, if it’s necessary at all.”

Cora nodded.  “I hope it isn’t.  I just wanted to make the offer.”

She rose to her feet.  She began to make her exit, nearly taking a step, when it occurred to her that there was more to say.  She turned back and was jolted with surprise to see that Loki had risen, as well. It was all too easy to forget how overwhelming his form was after sitting for so long.  He towered nearly a foot above her head.

She stepped back to see his face clearly.  “I just wanted to say thank you before I left, for explaining all of that to me: what caused you to be sick and what happened before.”

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and, after taking a breath, he pressed his lips together.  He looked… Cora might have called it _confused_ , but that seemed too simple.  His features never bore one emotion at a time, which was part of what made him so difficult to read.  Sometimes, it was as though his face was vehemently opposed to registering what went on in his mind and yet it was so very expressive.  His eyes were the problem, Cora thought, as she stared at him, waiting for him to speak. They never seemed to be in total agreement with whatever the rest of him was trying to accomplish.  When he thought no one was paying attention, they glazed with watery introspectiveness. She caught him staring down walls far beyond his physical surroundings.

There were centuries of secrets in those eyes.

He seemed restrained, even robotic, as he tipped his head.  And yet, as his eyelids gave a few rapid blinks, almost like a spasm, it was clear that he was thinking much more than his rigid movements suggested.

And then, the spell broke.

“I suppose…” he sighed,  “Everyone experiences the need to have another to talk to, on occasion.  Even I.”

Loki smiled, hesitantly, merely a few brief twitches of his lips, but it fanned the lines alongside those perplexing eyes.  It was such a striking face, difficult as it was to grasp, and he was still very close. Cora noticed that same pressure against her heart as before, although this time, not quite so gently.

His hands were folded behind his back, almost as if he was standing upon ceremony, seeing her off.  It was formal. Cora zipped her coat.

“You’ll let me know what happens, right?” she said, taking another step in the direction of the door.  “As soon as Thor is back?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

“Please do.  I’m going to be worried until I hear from you.”

He gave a nod, anchoring his hands behind his back, though his forearms pulsated with some sort of hidden movement.  Scratching at his palms, Cora would have guessed.

At last, she managing to cross the room and touch the doorknob.  It was cool to the touch, but not cold. The nicer weather was holding up.  She gave the knob a twist.

A floorboard behind her gave a sudden, ear-catching creak.

“Actually, Cora…”

She looked over her shoulder.  Loki could not have moved much, but he had released his hands and was giving them a shake at his sides.

“I think some fresh air might be wise, after all.  Perhaps you could show me this shop you mentioned, after all.  I think you’re right, it would be good to keep clothing here in the apartment, and…”  He pinched the hem of his shirt. “Thor’s opinion on fashion is something I’m not certain I can work with.”

Cora could feel the surprise show plainly on her face.  Words started to fall from her lips long before thought caught up.  “Oh… Well... Do you have a coat and some shoes? It’s warmer, but not… not by much.”

“I do,” said Loki.  She watched him cross the room to the other side of the door, where there were some hooks for outerwear and boots beneath them.  He put them on and took a coat from the wall. Both were items that Cora recognized from the day before. Like anyone else, he had put them aside as he came indoors, and now, like anyone else, he was putting them back on.  Very mundane. But it was somewhat surreal, watching Loki perform these simple tasks.

With Thor, it was different.  He ate and slurped coffee, or excused himself to use the restroom, and he always seemed as human as any other person who spent time in her cafe.  Possibly, her memory was playing tricks. She had known him for a much longer time. Maybe it had been more unusual in the early days than she could recall, but it had settled into something commonplace.

Loki was not like that.

Which was possibly why wearing his brother’s clothing felt like something that needed to be fixed.  Cora smiled as he finished buttoning his coat, which was green suede. The boots were shiny leather.  Over Thor’s sleep-appropriate attire, Loki looked even more ridiculous than before, but he did look more _himself_.

You’ve never been shopping before?” she asked.

They stepped outside and he winced at the bright sunlight.  “I am a prince if you recall. We don’t do that sort of thing ourselves, perhaps save for a fashion exhibition.  I enjoyed working with tailors, fixing designs. I don’t think _they_ enjoyed it as much.  I had a reputation for being particular.  Or a terror.”

Cora squinted away from the glare.  “I can see that.”

“That I was terror?”

She looked across her shoulder at him as they descended the short staircase from the porch.  It still felt very queer that they were walking together. “I meant that it’s obvious you care about clothing.  But the terror part, too.”

Loki hummed.  “The styles of Midgard run the gamut.  To what sort of place are we going?”

“I think you’ll like it,” she said.

“Is this place where you shop?”

“Sometimes.  I like to support the community, but I do more online shopping than I care to admit, even though it takes forever to arrive.”

From the apartment, there were two routes that lead to the main street of the village, one more scenic, the other more direct.  Cora chose the latter, which ran alongside the water. Loki’s burst of energy was not going to last forever. Every now and again, she caught him give a wince.

“We’ll just get you a few outfits to keep you situated,” she said,  “Even if you only need them for a couple of hours.”

From the corner of her eye, Cora watched Loki’s face shift with unexpected consternation.

“It just occurred to me,” he said, “That you’ll be the one to pay.  I don’t carry money on my person.”

“I assumed that.  Don’t worry about it.”  She thought for a beat. “How does that work, by the way?  You and Thor don’t have jobs. Where does your money come from?”

Loki took a deep breath, squinting into the shimmering distance across the harbor.  “You won’t care for it.”

She scowled.  “What do you...  Oh.”

Loki had the ability to _create_ his own money, the same way he could manipulate matter.  All he apparently needed was a dollar. He could duplicate whatever he wanted, change the ink.

Cora was not in the frame of mind to make an immediate ethical judgment on it.  It was not the same as theft, but…

“So you’re a counterfeiter,” she said.

“If you feel the need to give it a name, then I suppose that would be the accurate one.”

The main street was visible now.

Loki went on.  “But what do you imagine I need to buy?” he said  “The occasional exotic chocolate bar? That’s about it.”

Cora lightly chuckled.  Of all the possible things he might have mentioned: _a chocolate bar._   It had to be true.  Back in New York, Loki was trolling the streets in search of imported candy.

“And I’ve saved the American government millions of dollars, if not more, in sorcerer prison maintenance.  I would have lived about four-thousand years in confinement. That adds up quickly.”

Cora bit her lip to keep from laughing.  He was being facetious, but only by a hair.

“And Thor has a line of credit from the same government for his countless acts of heroism.”

Before his tone could truly shift to something thoroughly bitter, they arrived at the shop.  Painted above the door in blocky letters was a single word, _Vrimmel_ , which translated to _Abundantly_ .  It was one of the larger buildings in the little district and Loki looked at it with dawning recognition.  No doubt he had passed it before. It carried a stock of traditional Norwegian wear, not the historical _bunad,_ but the patterned wool sweaters and leather accessories, alongside a wide range of contemporary stock.  It was modern but still somehow quaint, like a slightly overgrown boutique.

Cora spun her finger in the air.  “Maybe you can magic up some clothes for me, so I don’t have to rely on Amazon.  If you want to pay me back, that is.”

“I’m afraid you might prove a terror,” he replied.  “You’re one for fashion, yourself.”

The candid observation struck her.  She squinted up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?  You disagree?”

Whether or not she agreed seemed thoroughly beside the point.  “I like clothes,” she replied. Her words were saturated with confusion.  Over what, or why, she was not certain.

“I am attempting to give you a compliment,” he said.

Ah.  That was it.

“You do that sort of thing?” she asked, half in seriousness.

“Your style of dress was the only thing I liked about you from the start.”

Cora released a breath that was nearly a sigh, but her shoulders failed to let go of their stored tension.  She shook her head at him as they entered and pushed to the side the mild thrill of feeling noticed.

Jingle bells rattled as they entered.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with hair braided from ear to ear greeted them with a wave.  Cora saw her often and knew her name was Anne, but she was distracted by another customer, which was for the best.  Loki was in as capricious of a mood as he ever seemed to be.

She cut a quick trail to the menswear section.  Loki’s heavy footfalls moved haltingly as he followed.  Glancing back, she caught him pausing to finger the fabric of the occasional shirt with thoughtful expressions.  Then, he pulled something off the rack.

“You like that?” asked Cora.

It was a handsome, high-necked sweater, charcoal in color, in a ribbed knit.  It fastened just below the neck with two toggle-style buttons, making it almost a Henley in style.

“This could work,” he said, fingering one of the buttons.

Cora agreed.  It did suit him.  “Any chance you know your size?”

Loki jutted his jaw.  “...Tall.”

Pulling one of the larger sweaters off the rack, she held it to Loki’s neck.  He straightened up to his full height, inflating his chest with air.

“You might be under-selling yourself with _tall_ ,” she said.  Cora swapped the sweater for the next size up and handed it to him.

It continued like that for a while.  Loki took his time, examining the racks, while Cora examined his reactions.  For someone who was such a struggle to read, it was surprising how quickly she found herself picking up on the ways he signaled interest in clothing.  He was tactile. Perhaps she had always been wrong to look to his face for answers. All of Loki’s interest came from his hands. He touched what he liked, gliding his thumbs across the fabric, squeezing to test the quality.

It reminded her of selecting fruit at the market.

At one point, Anne the clerk offered her assistance, and Cora deftly sent her on her way after some friendly chit-chat.  She wanted to keep as much distance as possible between in the bubbly, easy target and the God of Mischief.

Eventually, they had a nice collection of items for him to try.  The fitting room was a single closet in the back, which made use of a black curtain rather than a door.  Cora drew it to the side for him.

“Do you think you can manage from here?” Cora ribbed.

“Are you asking me if I know how to dress myself?”

“You‘ve gone a long time magically wrapping the clothing around your body.”

Loki rolled his eyes high into his skull.  Cora dropped the curtain.

“Sit down when you try on the pants.  One leg first, then the other.”

There was a chair beside the dressing room wall.  Cora considered taking a seat and waiting, staying close, in case something did not fit or Loki truly did intend to ask her opinion on how anything looked.  She had no idea what to expect. Hopefully, he was not about to ask her to take his measurements and make alterations.

Cora had only just seated herself when an unexpected kernel of thought popped in her brain.  She hopped back up and tugged on the edge of the curtain.

“This is awkward to ask, but are you… You _do_ have underwe-- under _garments_ on, don’t you?  Don’t try on any of the pants unless…  I mean, I’m not sure what Asgardians wear.”

The heat on Cora’s face was remarkably similar to when she stood too close to the steam of her espresso machine, but she muscled through in spite of it.  She peeked, with caution, past the edge of the curtain, keeping her eyes pointed high.

Loki was turned away from her.  The loose red fabric of his shirt fluttered as he pulled it overhead.

Cora waved her fingers, trying to snatch his attention through her reflection in the mirror, but his face was too quickly covered.  She hissed. No doubt he could hear it, but he seemed determined to pull off the shirt first and _then_ see what she wanted.

She waited.  The side of his torso faced her.  Like anyone else, he had freckles, ribs, fine, downy hair: completely indistinguishable from a human body.  What was it that made him seem so alien? Cora wondered if she would ever pin it down.

Loki twisted, pulling the shirt further up, putting on full display a sinewy, athletic form that the leanness of his frame had up till now disguised.  A cascade of muscle fibers rolled across his ribs as he reached overhead.

Cora’s grip on the black curtain lightly tensed.  Perhaps she was not human herself -- she did not know -- but for an involuntary moment, she felt helplessly in touch with mankind, though in her defense, she thought anyone probably would.

That was when she saw the scar.  It sat in the center of his chest, just beneath his sternum, oblong in shape, jagged in every sense of the word.  The skin surrounding it was puckered with stretch marks like lightning bolts, bright white against dull red.

He turned, and the mirror at his back showed an impossibly identical scar between his shoulder blades.

The shirt came off and it took Loki a fraction of a second to register just where Cora’s eyes had fallen.  His jaw tightened, so much so that the muscles bulged like two knots on either side. He clenched the shirt in his hands.  Cora dropped the curtain closed and backed away, giving her cold hands an immediate shake.

Matching scars on opposite sides of your body did not just _happen_.

It precluded anything but a singular explanation, which was that Loki had been _run through_ .  With what, Cora could hardly dare to imagine: something long and thick and _sharp_ , with a madman on the other end, ramming it through the same beautiful body she had just laid eyes upon.

What _had_ happened?   _Where_ had it happened?  Everything in the room seemed miles away as if her mind was prepared to leave everything behind and search for answers.  How she picked out Loki saying her name was a miracle, given the ringing in her ears.

“Y-Yes,” she forced herself to reply.

Even though he had been calling her, silence followed.  Seconds passed. Finally, Loki cleared his throat. “You’re right.  I don’t have anything to wear as undergarments. Would you mind fetching something?  Anything will do, in a reasonable size.”

He sounded so calm.  So impossibly calm.

“I trust your judgment.”

Cora closed her eyes.  Apparently, they were going to make jokes and play pretend and not discuss what they both knew she had seen.

She did not like it.  Cora rubbed her palms down the front of her coat, pressing them against her chest and feeling it expand and contract with a deep breath.  The lightness in her head dissipated. Still, she walked through the shop half in a daze, forgetting what she was searching for more than once along the way to stumbling upon it.  Her mind could only think of one thing, one horrific thing she had not even been present to witness. It was burned into her memory.

She pushed a pair of boxer shorts through the curtain and sat back down.

Loki did not ask for her opinion on any of the clothes.

He took his time, making hardly a sound except for the occasional damped rustle of fabric.  Cora tried not to listen or think about it… about anything _at all_ , really.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and read the weather report.

It looked like Halloween would be temperate.  That would be nice.

At length, Loki poked his head out from the curtain and Cora looked up from the little screen in her hands.  She could see his shoulders. He was wearing a drawstring cowl-neck sweater they had picked up, the color of which was an indeterminate hue that existed somewhere between purple and green.  It was both bizarre and handsome.

“I fared well,” he said.  “Is it acceptable for me to wear new clothing out of the shop?”

Cora stood.  “As long as we pay for it, it won’t be a problem.  Oh, you can leave behind what you don’t want. Just take what you’re getting.”

Loki was smiling as he stepped all the way out of the room, holding in his hands the articles he had selected to keep.  The sweater he had paired with dark, slim trousers.

“Looks good,” said Cora.  And it did. More than that, he seemed healthier.  The heavy lines on his face had lifted. But his smile... it seemed plainly _wrong_.  He knew what she had seen and he had all but growled at her for surprising him.  Why, now, was he grinning like a Cheshire cat? The new clothing? Did it really make him that happy?

“Just good?” he said, clearly not looking for an answer as he passed.

Was he teasing her?

They walked to the counter and paid.  Anne was abuzz with commentary on the quality of the clothing they were purchasing, to which Loki was far more patient than Cora expected.  He even seemed appreciative. It did not help her feel any less on edge.

They left the shop behind, with the bell chiming once more to sound their exit.  The rest of Loki’s clothing had been neatly folded into two nice paper bags, he holding one and Cora the other.  She tightened and loosened her fingers around the twine handle. Was this where they parted ways? If so, she would be grateful.  There was a knot in her gut and she feared the only way to undo it was to ask about the scar, which he clearly did not want her to bring up.

“Well…” she started, moving to hand off her bag, “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Actually,” said Loki, “Do you think we could stop by your cafe?  I could use a...cup of coffee.”

Cora’s eyes rounded.  She half-thought he might be joking.  “Coffee?”

“I discovered that it helps with some of the symptoms,” he said.  “And Thor’s never showed me how to work the coffee machine at home.”

She felt the tension on her brow give way to a relaxing warmth.  The knot in her stomach even loosened somewhat. “Of course I can get you coffee.”

“I am exceedingly grateful.”

The cafe was only a few storefronts down.  Cora pulled out her keys along the way and soon the door was open and they were inside.  She flicked on the light.

“I don’t have anything brewed,” she said.  “Pourover takes a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

She dropped the bag she was holding by one of the tables and flipped over the chairs, so Loki could sit.  They were plastic and wood, and not really comfortable at all, but sitting was sitting.

So Cora was surprised when Loki followed her behind the cafe counter.

She looked up at him quizzically.

Loki shrugged.  “I thought it might be good to watch and learn.”

“Oh.”  Cora frowned.  “Your apartment has a different kind of pot.”

“Ah…  How different?”  He turned, looking at the various machines on the counter.

“Like, completely different.  I don’t have anything like that here.  But it’s easy. Thor can show you.”

Loki nodded.  He stepped back as if to return to the table Cora had set up for him.  His eyes flicked downward. He scowled and subtly did a double-take.

“What?”  Cora looked down as well.  His eyes had locked on her small collection of entertainments stored on the shelves: a Rubik’s cube, a portable CD player, several books, and a bobblehead.  There was also a batik cushion. “Oh. My stuff.”

“You do have a home, do you not?” Loki asked dryly.

“Sometimes I get bored,” said Cora, as she measured out the fine grounds into the pot.

Loki reached for the large-headed doll and gave its cheek a gentle poke.  “And who is your tiny idol?”

“That’s Bowie,” Cora explained.

“Bowie?”

“A musician I like.  I got pretty deep into the whole… punk, glam rock _thing_ of the nineteen-seventies and eighties.”

His finger traced the pink lightning bolt across painted across the doll's face.  "Ah.  Well... She's very pretty."

"He's a man, actually."

"Oh."  Loki tilted his head.  "Well, I suppose I stand by all assessment all the same."

"Yes, Bowie has that effect on people." 

Loki nodded and apparently had no further questions because he finally turned and sat at the table.  Or maybe he was in too much pain to keep standing. Cora watched him wince as he bent his knees, which in turn caused her to wince, as well.  She poured hot water over the coffee. From the corner of her eye, she saw him bow his head and gently rub his temples.

She sighed, as the knot in her stomach wrenched again, though for now the image of the scar over his heart was far from her mind.  “Loki, you strike me as the sort of person who enjoys a piece of chocolate cake.”

He lifted his eyes and, after a moment, a smile appeared on his lips.  “Truer words about me have never been spoken.”

Cora grinned.  With the water poured, she ducked beneath the counter, opening the door to a glass case.  She pulled out a cake and found a knife and cut Loki a generous slice. She brought it to him on a plate.

Loki pressed his lips together, looking up at Cora with eyes that, as usual, had more to say on the matter and, as usual, she had no idea what it might be.  He took the plate from her hands with a simple _thank you_ and Cora went back to finishing his coffee.

Why did her kindness surprise him so much, she wondered as she returned to finish her coffee.

She never made it behind the counter.

It felt like a thousand needles in her back as it threw her against the wood.  Cora heard something like ocean roaring in a storm and glass shattering. A chair and table soared by her face.  Her body slumped to the floor and, with what little energy she had left, she rolled over to face Loki.

He was on the floor himself, sprawled out as he lifted his face from the tile.  He met Cora’s eyes with a contorted look of ghastly horror.

“Lo… Lo…”  But Cora could not speak.  She attempted to lift her hand, but it was as though there was a lead brick pinning each limb.

Her eyelids, too, seemed impossibly heavy.

The last thing she saw was Loki running to her like a bat out of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I love you for reading!! I would love to hear from you in the form lovely, lovely comments. Also, hit me up on Tumblr: https://mareebird.tumblr.com/


	15. Eksplosjon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki faces the aftermath of his wish coming true.

From Loki’s perspective, it unfolded so very differently.  There was no sensation of needles in his back, no wave which threw him across the room -- yet one moment he was sitting in his chair and the next he was on the floor, same as Cora.  It felt like passing out, like a sudden rush of wind in his skull followed by the icy grip of everything going numb.  He did not, however, lose consciousness.

His magic had returned to him, all at once, and he was not prepared.  It filled him like a wave crashing over a bucket, too enormous and too unexpected, unable to be contained.  The overflow spilled out, the bucket tipped. Loki collapsed beneath the weight of the overpowering metaphysical force.

What he saw, however, was more like an explosion, a ring of green fire expanding in every direction.  And at the epicenter: _him_ .  Loki saw the glass pastry case shatter, the tables and chairs fly; he saw Cora crash against the wall of her counter so hard that she _bounced_.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor.  The room was spinning and his limbs felt as though they were electric with lightning.  Loki peeled his clammy cheek from the tile and saw Cora in a ball, fighting to roll onto her back, struggling to raise her hand and reach for him.  She had not seen the green flame spin out from his body. She had no idea she was reaching for the source of her pain.

Norns, what had he _done?_

At once, Loki was on his hands and knees, tearing across the cafe.  Cora’s arm went limp, her eyes closed.

His heart was in his ears, outracing each second that ticked by, or perhaps everything was moving in slow motion.  He could faintly hear his voice as through a thick wall, murmuring words that were no more than nonsense, a collection of guttural pleas and swearing, as he pulled Cora off the floor and onto his lap.  Her head rolled back, her jaw fell open. No breath passed between her lips, or if there was, it was too shallow to measure. Loki pressed the back of his hand against her mouth and felt nothing.

He swore.  By now, it was far easier to hear.  Loki moved his fingers beneath the corner of her jaw.  A slow, rhythmic thud tapped against his skin. A pulse.  Her heart was still beating.

“Cora…”  He gave her a shake, frantic and forceful.  Her head bobbled like the little toy behind her counter.  “Cora!”

Loki slipped his hand around the back of her skull, cradling it, pulling her closer to his chest.  Her lips closed, their fullness sinking into the surrounding skin, already pale, no more than a thin line, like something dissolving.

He pushed the back of his hand against his temple, pulling a shivering breath through his clenched teeth.

“Come on, Cora!” he hissed, shaking her again.  Her limbs flopped. Her fading warmth was like sand between his fingers.

Loki craned his neck, squinting at the ceiling, _through_ the ceiling.  Was there anyone left to pray to these days?  Or at the very least, was not Strange watching them?  Where was the doctor when he was needed?

He could not fathom that this was reality unfolding and not some kind of nightmare.  He would have willingly accepted madness and hallucinations. Was she not supposed to be immortal, able to survive injury?  Only two days since meeting him and he had managed to destroy what over a hundred years had not been capable of taking from her.

Minutes ago, he had watched her walked across the room with a slice of chocolate cake in her hands, as the screaming in his skull threatened to crack it.  She sensed his pain. He could recall Cora’s lopsided smile as she slipped the plate onto the table, her eyes brimming with silent concern, perhaps even pity, and yet it utterly failed to bother him.  Her kindness filled him with warmth. And confusion.

In fact, the entire day had been one of bemusement.  Cora had so many quirks and habits that perplexed him, but it was her charity that he found the most baffling.  So unfounded did it seem that coming from any other person Loki would have been convinced it was a ruse, that he was being manipulated, but for Cora, it came from a place of such unsullied serenity.  It was instinctive and generous. She gave and she gave, even when it was clear that she was frightened, and what had he ever given her in return but a few sarcastic laughs and a miserably painful cathartic experience?

And now this.  How had he repaid her kindness, but with further injury?  Or worse.

One such as she deserved better.

Loki shook out his hand, which had become stiff from trembling.  He touched the pulse point below her jaw and traced it downward. If his magic was truly back, then it was time to make use of it.  He steadied himself, tensing and releasing the muscles that braced his shoulders. His eyes closed and he drew a deep breath and it occurred to him to whom he might pray.

_Mother, show me what to do.  Remind me. It’s been so long.  I fear I’ve forgotten. I won’t be able to forgive myself if this woman dies._

Loki’s consciousness sunk deep into what had formerly been a vast, empty chasm.  The new power within was electric and manic and just as confused as to what was happening as he, but the seiðr was strong, strong enough to change fate, if only Loki could put aside fear long enough to focus.

He pushed the heel of his palm beneath the collar of Cora’s sweater and pressed until he found her pulse there, as well.  

“Come on, Cora… Come on…”  His mouth formed her name in near silence, like another prayer.  Heat from his hand spread outward. But she did not move.

“Cora…  Please…”

There was a surge.  It happened so quickly that it came as a shock.  Cora’s chest heaved with a violent breath, all but screaming, sending such a jolt through Loki that he nearly dropped her.  His eyes snapped open and his hand flew to her cheek, cupping it, reveling in the budding warmth. He beamed from ear to ear, gasping out a laugh.

Cora’s eyes moved wildly about the room, threaded and rimmed with red where once everything had been slowly turning blue.  She winced in pain and then once again in bewilderment, realizing that she was on the floor and that Loki’s arms were around her.  She blinked and memory seemed at last to dawn as her expression turned to one of horror.

She clutched Loki’s sleeve.  “Are you all right?”

“Am I… Am _I_ all right?” Loki gaped in disbelief.  “Cora, I nearly killed you and you ask if I’m all right?”

“You _what?_ ”

Carefully, as though she was made of crystal, Loki pushed her from his lap and toward the wall of the counter.  Cora pressed her back against the wood, clenching her jaw along the way; she was still in pain. He kept his hand on her shoulder until he was certain she could stay upright on her own, and even then he was reluctant to pull away.  The gentle lift and fall of her collarbone reassured him of each breath.

“What happened?” she asked.

Loki rolled back on to his hip.  His body felt as though it had doubled in weight, or more accurately, in density.  His mind knew it was impossible, but he felt heavier down to the bone. The hollowness inside was no more.  “I suppose Thor was able to convince them.”

Cora’s mouth hung for a moment, as she drew back her hand from some shattered glass beside her hip.  “That came from _you?_ ”

“I was unprepared.”

As they continued to catch their breath on the floor, Cora’s eyes narrowed over Loki’s shoulder.  He turned and saw a small collection of concerned passers-by at a window, which was just high enough to have missed the full force of Loki’s metaphysical explosion.  How much they had witnessed, he did not know, but how much could they have truly understood? They did not appear to pose a threat.

She waved her hand until they began to disperse.

“What probably happened, in so much as I can piece it together,” said Loki, “Was that I was caught so off-guard that my instincts fired off an attack before I realized what was happening.  I think I nearly fainted. The energy shot out as I fell.”

“That’s what threw me?  A magical explosion?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“But you’re okay?”

He scowled.  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because you were sick."  Cora winced as she adjusted herself in his arms.  "Did it fix you?”

Loki shook his head, bewildered by Cora as ever.  Was it possible she was suffering from a head injury? “You are very strange.”

“Why?”

“I was not joking when I said I nearly killed you.”  He gestured about the room, at the overturned tables and chairs, the broken glass.  Even his chocolate cake was splattered across the floor. “Look at all of this.”

She did, quirking a half-hearted smirk.  “I can’t die, remember?”

“You seem able to come dangerously close.”  Loki stared at her wrist for a moment before hooking his fingers beneath to test her pulse.  He did not ask permission. Her tendons tensed and he heard her swallow hard.  He reached the end of the count and, satisfied, placed her hand back in her lap.  Their eyes screwed in on one another. “Sometimes there’s nothing but a sliver of luck between you and the afterlife.”

The hint of a smile that had been playing upon her lips finally dissolved.  Her gaze flicked toward the center of his chest. He thought about the moment in the fitting room when she had seen his scar, a moment which neither of them had dared to mention.

It was the last thing Loki wanted to discuss.  He turned away and pushed himself up. He brushed debris from his new pants and picked up one of the chairs.

“Why don’t we get you off the floor,” he said.

Loki reached down and Cora, with some effort, lifted her hand and slid it into his.  With a gentle tug, she was on her feet. He curved an arm around her ribs and guided her to the chair.  She sat.

“Water?” he asked, already on his way behind the counter.  Her wide eyes watched him until he turned, after which Loki could feel them heating into his back.  He picked up one of the few mugs that had not been shattered and filled it from the tap.

“Thank you,” she said, as he returned to hand it off.  “You look better, by the way. You have some color in your cheeks.”

With a sigh, Loki shook his head at her, though the corner of his mouth stretched toward his ear.  “Drink up,” he said.

Cora dipped her head into the mug as it met her lips.  Her hands were shaking. Her fingers tensed around the ceramic to disguise it, but it was not possible.

“Do you feel any different?” she asked.

“It was far more like being blindsided by a tank than I expected.”

She snorted.  “That makes two of us.”

Loki turned over another chair and placed it across from her.  He sat. His body still felt as though it had doubled in weight, with limbs that bordered on unwieldy, worst of all his knees, which were genuinely weak.  In truth, he all but collapsed into the chair.

“How long was I unconscious?” she asked.

“In retrospect, no more than a few minutes.”

“Retrospect?”

“In the midst of it, it seemed…  It seemed to go on for much longer.”  Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. An ache clawed at the center of his forehead.  He heaved a sigh. “Cora, I... I’m so sorry. I had no control over it whatsoever.”

She stared him as though she could not process his apology.  Loki expected as much. Even he could accept that he was not to blame, but he hated that it happened, he hated it bitterly.

It had terrified him, he was only now beginning to grasp just how deeply.  In the moment, he relied on pure instinct. He had become instinct itself.  There was no time to feel, only to act. Now, all of the feeling seemed to be catching up to him, settling in his throat thick as sludge, burning in his chest.  What would have happened had she not survived? What would have become of him, of Thor, of their bargain with Ross? Loki did not know which was more horrific: the possibility of his life coming apart at the seams or Cora’s life slipping away in his arms.

Cora was staring at him, watching him squirm with the those bright, nearly maternal eyes of hers.  It was almost more than he could tolerate. Was it even true that he had nearly killed her? Loki did not know.  Perhaps she really was an immortal, but it was harrowing to have come so dangerously close to finding out for certain.

And to think that yesterday afternoon he wanted nothing more than cause her damage and so utterly convinced that he was justified.

“I had no idea it would happen that way,” he said, once the silence between them had stretched too long.

With a frown, Cora balanced the mug on her lap and reached a hand toward his.  She did not wait for him to meet her touch. She pried his fingers apart and gripped them tightly.

“Loki, no...” she breathed, calling him back.  “You didn’t hurt me.”

All of the air escaped his lungs in the form of an inelegant laugh.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Pressing his lips together, Loki nodded, and with a glance downward, he realized that he had absentmindedly begun to run his thumb along the peaks and valleys of her knuckles.  The skin across her hand was dotted with tiny marks and scrapes, but she was whole and solid beneath his touch.

He had no desire to pull away.  It was more than relief that he felt.  He just didn't know what it was.

It was then that Thor entered the cafe.  Cora retracted her hand.

He came through the door.  Loki could only surmise that Strange had dropped him off at a discreet location, possibly inside the apartment.  He turned just in time to see his brother’s broad smile crumble into a hundred pieces, similarly to the cafe.

“What in Hel happened?”

“Loki exploded,” remarked Cora.

Loki’s head spun back in shock.  She smirked.

“ _What?_ ”  Thor waded through the trail of glass as he crossed the tiny space.  His eyes locked on Cora.

“Was no one observing us?” asked Loki, rising to his feet.  “I was beginning to wonder. Or is our friend the Doctor right behind you?”

Thor crouched down to examine Cora, brows low.  His hand faintly grazed her chin. “Are you hurt?”

Cora offered a reassuring smile.  “A little knocked around, but I’m fine.”

“What do you mean by _exploded?”_  Thor straightened up.  The knit expression on his forehead remained.

Loki slipped his hands into his pockets.  If he did not know better, he would say his brother was being rather obviously distrustful of him.  Or perhaps he did know better and that _was_ the trouble.  He decided to shrug it off.  After all, they _were_ standing in the midst of a blast site.

“We did not take into account just what might happen if all of my abilities were to be returned to me at the same instant,” said Loki.   “I was overwhelmed.”

Thor, ever the hunter, stalked through the rubble, scanning the damage.  He walked behind the counter, flipping a table along the way. He did not speak.  He studied each detail.

Loki wanted to roll his eyes.  “Are you alone?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Does no one realize what happened?  Did Strange not _watch_ this unfold?”

Thor brushed a few large pieces of what were formerly mugs into his hand and carried them to the trash can, which had also overturned.  He set it upright. “No. We are no longer under observation. At least, not for the time being.”

“That’s great!” chirped Cora.

Thor gave her a mildly quizzical look.

“I’ve explained to Cora the particulars of my situation,” said Loki.  “Former situation. This _is_ permanent, I hope.”

“Is it?” asked Cora.  “Is everything back to the way it was?”

Thor maintained a clear expression of surprise as he dusted off his hands above the trash can.  “It is,” he replied, “But there are conditions.”

Loki felt his spirits sink into the pit of his stomach.  He folded his arms across his chest. “What is it this time?” he asked.  There were always conditions. There would _always be_ conditions.  That was how humanity operated.  The full role he had played in defeating the Titan would never matter to them.  Once wronged, they went cold and hard as stone. Miserable beings.

He glanced at Cora.

Present company excluded, he supposed, if indeed she was human.  Loki reserved doubts that a human could have survived what she just had.  A human ought to have been dead before they hit the floor.

What _was_ she?

Thor breathed a heavy sigh.  He seemed agitated or perhaps befuddled.  Loki knew his brother’s anxious habits, seldom though they came to light.  When he was thinking deeply, he was loath to speak, and Thor remained silent as he gathered up more pieces of glass.

“What are the conditions?” repeated Loki.

Again, Thor sighed.  “Perhaps it would be best for us to speak in private.”

Loki stiffened.  His eyes flicked to Cora, who was already looking at him.  He opened his mouth and shut it again. Perhaps the question to ask was not _what_ were the conditions, but _why_ were their conditions at all?  He knew better than to remotely entertain the idea that they had restored access to his magic out of the kindness of their hearts or even that it might have been born out of pity.  Thor had appealed to their reason, nothing more.

What was it they _needed?_ What had Thor promised them now?

His eyes narrowed sharply on his brother.

Thor scratched at the back of his head, tipping his face toward the floor.  Loki felt the skin across his shoulders neck grow tight. Would his brother ever learn?  Would he ever stop to _think?_  Was he so stubbornly determined to play the hero that he failed to notice the ditch he dug deeper and deeper around them?

“What is it they want from me?” asked Loki sternly.

Thor scowled.  The corners of his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, but he did not say anything.

Loki felt his patience rapidly slipping.  “What did you tell them I would do in return for this?”

He held up his hands.  A little flexing of his fingers and they were aglow with white light.  A second passed and it evaporated like a fine mist. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cora rise from her chair.

Thor shook his head.  “It isn’t... It’s not what you’re thinking, Loki.”

“Do you ever have any idea what I am thinking?”

Thor’s chest expanded with a deep breath, one he held for a count before releasing.  He pressed his hand against the counter and drummed his fingers. Loki turned and paced away.  The swift motion made him lightheaded. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What do they want?”  It was Cora who asked. Her voice was thin, almost timid, unlike herself.  Loki could hear her shuffle across the glass-strewn floor. “Is there some reason why I can’t know?”

Thor sighed heavily.  There was more silence and then, _finally_ , he began to speak.  “While they were observing Loki, they overheard everything about your age…”

Loki looked back over his shoulder, mouth parted.  He felt cold. Thor was still behind the counter and Cora was standing beside it, eyes wide, the pink in her cheeks flushing hotly.

How could it never have occurred to him?  How could he not have realized? He had been so focused on himself, his loss, his pain.  He had not only revealed her secret to his brother, but to the entire American government.  He had placed her at risk perhaps even more perilous than the blast of energy which had thrown her across the room.

Loki’s stomach lurched.

“What did they say?” asked Cora.  She had begun to fiddle with the fabric of her dress, twisting it between her fingers.

Loki turned the rest of the way and walked to the counter.  “Is she in danger?”

Thor shook his head.  “No, it’s nothing like that.  They merely want us to help them figure out what she is.”

“To what purpose?  So they may rule themselves warranted to run medical tests?  Add her to their list of virulent threats?”

Cora sputtered some attempt at an interjection, utterly unintelligible as Thor spoke over her.

“Loki, you cannot expect them to hear that she is more than a hundred years old and not to seek out more information, not after everything that’s happened to this planet.  And none of this would have happened if you had never...” Thor’s arm grew stiff against his pressure on the countertop, his knuckles turning white. When he noticed Loki observing it, he snatched his hand away.  He began to rub his knuckles.

Loki laughed.  It was a sticky, grinding sound.  “Had I never done exactly what you are now justifying?”

Thor tightly frowned.  He had come dangerously close to putting his foot in his mouth and though he was too proud to admit it, his sudden silence was heavy with guilt.  Loki waited for a moment and sighed, deciding not to press further. He looked down at his feet and kicked at debris on the floor. His brother was helpless not to give help, to the detriment of wisdom.  It would have been charming if it were not so annoying. And vise versa.

“So we still have our backs against the wall,” said Loki.

“They are giving us a few days.”

“And what do they expect us to do?  Run blood tests?”

“Tony did offer--”

“Tony _Stark?_ ” asked Cora.

“He could at least detect if she was not human.”

Loki swallowed.  Beside him, Cora continued to pull at her dress.  He watched her, becoming slowly aware of the sensation of tightness in his throat.

Incapacitating him this morning had hardly been about him at all.  Or had it? At what point did punishing him end and leveling a bargaining chip begin?

He no longer doubted if Thor understood everything at stake.  Loki even felt guilty for accusing him of stupidity, but like his brother, he was far too proud to admit to it, though the silence spoke for him.

It spoke for them all.

In the end, at some length, it was Cora whose voice broke through first.  “What will they do to me?”

Thor dropped a hand on her shoulder.   “No harm will come to you, I promise. All they may want is Registration.”

Loki closed his eyes for a moment.

“Registration?” she asked.

“You’ll sign a lengthy document wherein you promise to mean no harm to the planet.  I’ve signed it. Loki has signed it. I am certain they will determine you no threat once all is said and done.”

Loki’s eyes opened to find Cora once again looking toward him.  Thor’s reassurance and optimism could only stretch so far. She required the blunt words of a cynic, because she was one herself, and she had already seen the work of Strange and Ross first hand.

He shrugged.  “I don’t trust them.”

“Nor I,” said Thor, which came as a surprise.  “Not completely. But once they have an answer, I believe they will leave her alone.  They’ve left the others alone.”

“Most of them,” said Loki.  “Not all. And what of my power?  Is that to vanish once all is said and done?”

Thor shook his head.  “No, if we act in good faith, you remain free.”

Cora turned to Loki with a smile so unfettered by fear, as though she had not a concern in the universe for herself, that it again caused his stomach to twist.  He had to look away.

“And how much time do we have?” he asked.

“A week,” said Thor.

Loki nodded.  “Cora, are you in agreement?”

There was only a brief pause before she spoke, though it felt longer.  “Yes. I don’t trust them, either, not after what I’ve seen, but I trust you.  I trust both of you.”

Drawing a short breath, Loki turned back to her reflexively, and again, her eyes were there to meet him.  The kindness in them was ever-present, but now he saw something else, something foreign, though he knew it.  Somehow.

It was faith.

The morning had begun with her ill-at-ease but curious, and curiosity had become compassion through the workings of her good nature alone.  Loki knew he could not take back what he had done to her, the damage he had caused. Even though the memory and regret grew more bitter with each passing hour, forgiving him and trusting him were hardly the same.

Even their shopping excursion had been buried under several layers of tension.  But then there had was the explosion and the moment when she had awakened in his arms.  If Loki had ever been so happy in all his life, it had been too long ago to compare -- such utter, absolute relief, like a second explosion.  No, more than relief. More than even happiness. _Joy_.

Cora must have sensed it, the way she looked at him now, so convicted in her decision, throwing her lot in with him.

Perhaps Cora was human.  Or perhaps not. Loki was no longer certain of what he doubted with regard to this planet or its people.  He wanted to keep on hating it, hating Ross and Strange and the crop of people who continued to demonize him, but suddenly it was not so easy.  Well, hating Ross was still quite easy, and Strange was just a bastard.

But human or not, this planet had played some role in forming the tender, lavishly giving, unbreakable woman before him.

And Loki took to heart, not for the first time, that Cora Eriksen was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward we go. I didn't expect to finish this chapter before I left for vacation, but surprise!
> 
> I love comments and you can always check me out over on Tumblr: https://mareebird.tumblr.com/ It's 95% Loki!


	16. Velkommen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cora talks about herself. Loki tortures himself.

 

**Chapter 16 -  Velkommen**

 

It was Cora who suggested that they begin their work in a location not strewn with shattered glass.

She said this as Loki and Thor were in the midst uprighting the remainder of the tables and chairs, preparing to immediately set to the task amid the rubble.  They had held conferences in settings far more decimated, in actual warzones. It was with some embarrassment that they accepted that Cora’s sensible proposal made them appear rather oafish.

Not to mention foolish.  Her home, she reminded them, was where she kept decades-worth of records and mementos, boxes full of her life story.

“I’ll unpack it all and maybe you’ll be able to find what I’ve missed,” she said, eager to start.

Or to get it over with.  Loki no longer questioned if Cora was trustworthy, but her personal life had been wrapped up so tightly and for so long that secrecy had become part of her identity.  This new transparency was akin to undressing. He assumed. He could only imagine how it would feel to be in her situation. Truly, he might have preferred a quiet, secluded cell on the Raft to putting his entire life on display.

Loki wondered how well Thor was able to pick up on Cora’s nervous ticks, how she could not diffuse tension without grabbing some random object and fiddling with it.  For the last several minutes, it had been the wool fabric of her dress. Fine, hair-like fibers were beginning to come loose between her fingers. Flecks of pink nail polish had chipped away, although they might have been knocked loose during the blast.

It was not until they began walking that her hands found more focused tasks, such as help her to maintain balance.  Cora stubbornly refused to admit that she was still in pain. The explosion had struck her back with enough force the break it, human or not.  That she was moving at all was no small miracle, but each step seemed to offer a short reprise of the original agony.

Loki found it difficult to watch, though he was reluctant to intervene.  She seemed determined to make it to the house by sheer force of will alone.  Thor offered an arm. She refused. Loki’s fingers tightened around the shopping bags from the boutique, which he had been tasked with carrying, keeping pace just behind Cora’s lead, reading the back of her neck as it tensed with pain.

He was relieved once they arrived at the house.

Though in actuality, it was what was more accurately described as a condominium: a thoroughly modern new construction with a flat-faced facade that was mostly brushed metal; a townhome set within a row of identical properties.  It reminded Loki of New York and, aside from a few well-carved jack-'o-lanterns, he found it awful-looking.

The interior, however, was far closer to what he expected of Cora.  They were greeted just beyond the door by a mounted wooden knot. It was not a symbol specific to Asgard per se, but inside the palace, similar designs had decorated every reception room and royal banquet hall, knots of every shape and size and meaning.  Some symbolized family, others diplomacy and friendship. With them, Odin held out open arms to embrace the Nine Realms!

There were times when Loki, as a lonely boy, found the knots far less than welcoming, times when they seemed outright twisted, times when they seemed to mock him.

Yet, seeing one now, all he felt was homesickness.

Cora had such love for Asgard and Norway and their interlaced past.  She had spent her life in a state of constant hope and longing for connection.  Staring at the knot, Loki experienced a very real pang in the center of his chest.  What if her dream, this belonging she craved, was nothing but wishful thinking? She was more than human, but what more?  Asgardian? The thought of her living in such a fantasy was abhorrent to him.

Small wonder.

And beyond that, Loki was full of doubt he could not exactly place.  His brain, clear and electric for the first time in months, was churning.

The entryway opened to a large room not dissimilar to Thor’s apartment in the sense that the kitchen and living area were one.  The space was much darker, of course, due to the lack of windows along the flanking walls, but it was cozy, and it left an abundance of surface area for Cora’s impressive collection of anthropologic curios and art.  Not all of it pertained to Norse history, but much of it did. The walls themselves were hardly visible. It was a gallery.

Perhaps it was due to his magic returning, but all of it seemed to strike Loki’s senses full blast.  His eyes were keen. He peeled off from the group, dropping his shopping bags in the corner, and began to examine what she had deemed worthy to display, coming nose-to-nose with a framed passage from what appeared to be the _Edda_ , although Loki was not certain.  The ink of the text was too faded.

From behind, he heard Cora mount a short staircase, which he had taken note of beside the refrigerator.

“Make yourself comfortable.  You can eat whatever you like.  I’m going to change.” Her voice was so thin that the reminder of her pain stung like a freshly sharpened knife.  Loki tensed as he looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Cora disappear into the hallway. A door closed.

He tipped his chin toward his chest and frowned into the center of it.

Thor released a deep sigh.  It was easy to picture him without looking: his arms folded tightly across his chest, an equally tight knot in his forehead.  There was tension in the room and it felt like static. Loki knew his brother was not angry with him. If anything, he was chastising himself for failing to protect everyone at the same time, which spoke to either his enormous ego or enormous stubbornness.  Or both. Thor had a talent for placing all of his faith in an impossibility.

Or perhaps Loki was projecting.  Cora’s injury might not have been his fault, but the could not deny that he had been the epicenter of her pain--and in a different sense, he had been so long before to the explosion.  His guilt refused to abate. It burned him from the inside, like a lump of smoldering coal in his gut.

“I did not…”

Lok had begun speaking before his brain could assure him of whether or not it was wise.  The words slipped from his tongue. He paused and considered not going further, but he could feel Thor’s eyes on him.  He took a breath and went on, back still turned.

“I did not think it would happen that way: everything returning at once, the sudden burst of power.  It exceeded my ability to contain it. There was a moment when I thought… I thought I might have injured her.  I _did_ injure her.  But I thought it might have been worse.”

The words hung.  Thor did not speak.  Loki wondered if he was waiting for more to follow, but both of them had fallen silent.

At length, he heard Thor shift his weight.  “How could you have known?”

Loki glanced across his shoulder.  He could not see his brother, except out of the corner of his eye, and even then he could not see his face.  Thor’s arms were folded and he watched them drop and relax at his sides.

“She seems all right,” said Thor.  “The cafe took the worst of it.”

Loki’s mouth twitched before giving in to a faint smile.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t arrive sooner so that I could help.”

Typical Thor.  Loki shook his head before turning around.

“How do you feel?” his brother asked.

“I’d say I feel like myself,” said Loki, walking toward him.  He flexed the muscles in his arms and gave them a shake. In some ways, the aggressive ebb and flow of energy within was uncomfortable.  His sinews felt like a chord one could pluck. In time, he would regain balance. Loki would not have traded it for anything. “I might have forgotten what my _self_ used to feel like.  I feel heavy and... strange.”

“Let’s agree not to use that word to describe anything from now on.”  Thor turned to the cabinets and opened a door, pulling a bag of _something_ from the shelves.  It proved itself to be some sort of chip as he began thrusting them into his mouth.  “I’m starving.”

“I didn’t comment.”  Loki stretched out his hand until Thor passed off a fistful of the chips.  They were of the corn variety, spotted with flecks of seeds. He examined one and slipped it over his tongue.  He chewed and swallowed. “Thank you.”

But he was not talking about the food.  The light in Thor’s eyes flickered. “You’re welcome.”

It was nearly sufficient to say nothing else about it, though Loki wished it was easier to say more.  Sometimes he did not know who was really at blame for their inability to put thoughts to words. Odin, probably.  

“What happened in New York?  You were there for a long time.”  Loki ate another chip. Up close his brother looked so weary, as though he had been awake for weeks.

“The usual.  Strange and Ross on one side, Stark and myself on the other.”

Loki nodded.  “Do you think that the only reason why Strange made me ill was to have leverage against Cora?”  His words were blunt, his gaze equally direct as he met Thor’s eyes.

“No.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what to think anymore,” Thor said solemnly.

Again, they lapsed into silence, aside from the snap and crunch of the chips.  Loki’s stomach went sour as he watched Thor’s face fall further and further, drawing out every hidden line.  It was as though he was aging before his eyes. It seemed like a mask, and Loki had the sudden impulse to rip it off his face and throw into the trash.

“Thor… I know you feel as though this is some sort of failure on your part...”

His brother’s entire expression twisted, his eyes flashing (even the false one) with sudden lightning.  “I never should have--” Just as abruptly, Thor shut back down, angrily throwing a chip back into the bag and stealing himself with a breath.  “I made a mistake trusting them from the start.”

Loki was taken aback, though it was not the first time Thor had admitted fault in his presence, not even the first since daybreak.  His words now were much the same as while they were collapsed on the bathroom floor, shouldering one another’s guilt over their entanglement with the Accords, and the deeper damage done to their brotherhood.

All the same, Loki could not think of anything less jarring, then or now, than his brother in desperation, at the end of his rope.  It felt like a chip of the universe crumbling away. It always had. Older brothers were not supposed to be afraid.

“Well… Stark has proven himself a friend,” offered Loki.  “Listen, I know you’re angry. I am, too. We’re being jerked around on chains like dogs.  But your loyalty to them was not completely unfounded and I did commit several crimes against humanity.”

Thor lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m not making excuses,” said Loki.

“Last we talked, you seemed as ready as I to strangle the lot of them.  Has getting your powers back lifted your mood so much? Are you inclined to forgiveness?”

“Never.  I merely prefer to focus on one solution at a time.”  And to retain some sense of calm. After the morning spent in a near-panic, Loki was loath to stir up any more agitation than necessary.

Thor’s eyebrow went back down.  “To help Cora then?”

“It’s the least I can do after nearly killing her.”  He turned away before any real emotion registered on his face, walking past the staircase beside the refrigerator, glancing upward along the way.  The collection of art and antiquities continued along the rest of the walls.

“What was it that brought the two of you to the coffee shop?” asked Thor, his voice more penetrating than before, enough to inject a bit of stiffness into Loki’s neck.  “I had Strange leave me at the apartment because I assumed you would be there.”

“It’s a long story.”

He narrowed his eyes on a random curio, a small watercolor of a coastal scene.  Thor snapped a chip between his teeth and the noise seemed to echo. With a sigh, Loki turned around,

“Cora came by because she had misplaced her phone.  I don’t know if you realized, but I never packed a bag for our trip.  I don’t need to pack bags. But after I showered, I realized that had no clothing of my own and no ability to conjure anything, so…  She saw I was wearing some of your things and offered to take me to a shop in town.” Loki clasped his hands behind his back. “In case you were unable to convince Strange to undo what he had done.”

“And along the way,“ said Thor, “That was when you filled her in on the details of…”

“Why I was sick?  Yes.”

“But the cafe?”

Loki tilted his head.  “I discovered that the caffeine in the drink helped to alleviate some of the worse symptoms.  Once we were done shopping, I asked if she could spare a cup.”

Thor nodded and pushed another chip into his mouth.  “It was kind of her to do all of that.”

“I agree,” said Loki.  She was a rare thing: a caregiver devoid of guile.  It had its moments of charm, though it was fun to tease her as well.  Loki enjoyed it when he irked her to the point of biting back at him. She had a talent for that, as well.

As Thor sealed the bag and returned it to the cabinet, that seemed to be the end of his query.

Overhead, a pipe began to rattle.  The muted but unmistakable sounds of a shower running vibrated through the small home.  Cheap construction, cheap plumbing. The sound escalated in Loki’s overly-sensitive ears.  “I suppose she decided to wash the glass out of her hair,” he offered.

Thor nodded, lifting one shoulder with a shrug, and the hint of an incredulous squint.  The back of Loki’s neck abruptly felt hot, as though he had wandered to stand beneath a lamp.  He glanced toward the ceiling. The pipes continued to rattle. It had not required commentary.  He did not know why he had said anything about it.

He turned back to the art displays on the walls.

“The two of you have become fast friends,” said Thor, who was not as finished as he seemed.

Loki shot him a look.  Why did his brother insist on being such an ass?  He and Cora were no longer at war with one another.  Was that not enough to satisfy?

“What?”  Thor’s eyes lit with surprise.

“What do you mean, _what?_ ”

“What do I mean…?  Loki, _what_ are you talking about.”

“You’re implying--”

“Implying that I’m glad the two of you are getting along?  I don’t mean to imply anything. I mean to be candid. I’m happy to hear all of this.”

Loki swallowed.  His mouth had gone sour.  He very much doubted he had entirely misread Thor.  “Whatever,” he said, with no shortage of acid.

“Loki, _what?_ I swear to you, I am not implying anything.”

Loki clenched his teeth, wondering if it was possible that his imagination was getting the better of him.  The day was weighing on them both, overlong before it was even half-complete. Perhaps Thor truly had meant nothing.  Perhaps they were both doomed to miss the mark.

“Nevermind.”  Behind his back, Loki pinched the palm of his hand.  “It’s fine.”

“The clothing looks good, by the way.  Very you.”

“Shut up.”

Loki was tired.  And somewhat haunted.  Thor had, whether he intended it or not--Loki still suspected that he had--thrown open curtains Loki preferred to keep closed.  Some ghosts were better left in the dark, undisturbed.

For there had been a moment in the cafe when he looked at Cora and the briefest of fantastical impossibilities had slipped into his mind, unbidden: a bright flash of desire, the fortuity of _what if_.  She had turned those wide, beautiful eyes of hers on him with conviction and like an icicle, he had melted.

Loki shook his head at himself, smiling a little.  He was not like his brother. He knew when to leave well enough alone.  And he suspected that Cora would not appreciate it if she was made aware, even if his aphrodisia had lasted for only a moment.  He did not know how much he trusted Thor’s discretion.

No, he knew exactly how much, which was not at all.

The pipes rattled again, signaling the end of Cora’s shower.  Loki rolled his shoulders and returned to where his brother was standing.  Thor had begun to fill a glass with water.

Loki released a small sigh.  “I should tell you, I have some doubts that she is Aesir,” he said.

Thor coughed in the midst of his first sip.  “What? Why is that?”

“Density, or lack thereof.  When the magic struck her, she went flying.”

“ _I_ would go flying,” said Thor.

“No, you wouldn’t.  It wouldn’t be the same.”  He did not relish pointing out Thor’s wishful thinking--at least, he was not enjoying it at present--but false hope was too dangerous of a thing.  “Do you recall when we were in the church? She and I climbed up to the catwalk. When I lifted her, she was very light.”

“That doesn’t confirm anything.  In all likelihood, she isn’t fully one race or another.  She could still be genetically Aesir, without every characteristic.”

“A recessive Aesir gene?  That is your theory? Thor, that’s nearly impossible.”

“But that means it’s possible.”

Loki took a drink.  “Listen, the absolute last thing I want is for her to actually be human.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“Wish what?”

The final question had come from behind, from familiar, still slightly anemic feminine voice.  Loki’s eyelids fell shut as Thor’s attention shifted to a spot over his shoulder. He pressed his jaw forward with a sigh.

Loki turned to see Cora standing at the bottom of the steps, clothing changed, skin scrubbed clean of the debris from the blast.  Her wet hair was slicked back in a manner reminiscent of the _Bowie_ toy in the cafe.

Loki gave in to the urge to clear his throat.  “We were discussing what you may or may not be.”

Cora cracked her knuckles alongside either hip.  “And?”

How much had she overheard?  Had she been hiding at the top of the staircase longer than either of them realized?  Loki placed his glass on the countertop as casually as he could manage, turning to conceal a frown that pulled at his lips.

He had harmed her enough for one day.  For one lifetime, really.

“The truth is…” he began, lifting his eyes, meeting hers, which in spite of her shower were still rimmed with the shadow of fatigue.  He sighed. “The truth is, anything is possible.”

Cora nodded soberly.  She walked to the sink, passing between the two of them, and silently poured her own glass of water.  Behind her back, the brothers exchanged a look. She walked to the other end of the counter and pulled open a drawer, removing what appeared to be a leather-wrapped journal.  Her hand briefly caressed the soft cover before she tugged at a string, freeing the pages. Reaching inside, she produced the list of races and species Thor and Loki had written the previous night.  Thor was standing closer, so he took it from her when she held it out to them.

“So, what’s a Celestial?” she asked, walking toward the kitchen table.

Of all the words written on the paper, it was the only one which had been crossed out.  Again, Loki exchanged a glance with Thor. He did not believe that she had not overheard them, but she seemed willing to overlook it for now.  Loki lifted his eyebrows. Thor stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“That depends on who you ask.  The first created beings, according to some,” said Thor.

“Is that why you scratched it out?  I’m too young.” The corner of Cora’s mouth turned up.  She pulled out a chair and gingerly lowered herself into it.  She was still in pain. Loki wished she would just admit it.

“When we made the list, we wrote everything we could think of.  Some of it is outlandish.” Thor crossed to the table and sat down, as well.

Loki lingered at the counter, watching as Cora pulled her leatherbound book closer to her chest the moment he joined her.  He tilted his head.

Thor folded his hands over the table and leaned in, as though he was beginning to conduct some sort of corporate meeting, utterly oblivious to her anxiety.  “Could you tell us more about yourself? More about your childhood, your family… When was it that you first suspected you were different?”

Loki lowered his eyes to his glass of water.  He listened to the all but silent sounds of Cora twisting her hands.

“I was born in Canada, actually, and... it was shortly after I was married.  I think,” she said.

“Ah, so you _were_ married?” blurted Thor, fairly devoid of what most would call tact.  Loki could see his brother earnestly attempt to meet his eye and ignored it.

“Yes,” said Cora.  “Why?”

Heat began blooming on Loki’s cheeks.  He drank down what remained in his glass as though it was something far stronger.

“Loki thought you might have been, based off something you said last night, apparently.  He didn’t say what it was.”

As Loki lifted his eyes, he expected Cora to meet him with a scowl.  Instead, and much to his surprise, what he saw was a smirk.

“I don’t recall saying anything, but Thor warned me that you were intrusively perceptive,” she said.

Loki turned around to refill his glass, stealing a moment to silently regroup, and then joined them at the table.

“It was merely a theory,” he said, taking up station behind one of the chairs.  “You said it was difficult to travel unaccompanied when you were younger. Eventually, it became easier, once… Once you became a widow, I presume.”

Her eyes dipped toward the table, toward the book, which he was now certain to be a journal.  Up close, the grain of the leather was well-worn and flat. The pages were fat with items enclosed within, some of them peaking out to be seen.  Like every journal, it was a book of secrets.

“I married because I needed to.”  Cora raised her face as Loki took a seat.  “My father had passed. My mother didn’t have the ability to support me and I barely had enough education to support myself.  I chose to marry. It wasn’t uncommon to do that back then, to marry out of necessity.”

“And something about that marriage or around that same time…”  Loki pressed gently. “You noticed a change of some sort?”

“Well, it wasn’t from the moment I a married that everything suddenly changed.  It was something I noticed gradually. My husband and I moved to England, to a town in Yorkshire near Scarborough.  It was remote. He was often gone--he came and went, for work.” She paused and gave a small shrug. “I was alone most of the time.  Eventually, I started to notice that I was never sick. I would get cuts or scrapes and within minutes they would be gone. I’d burn myself in the kitchen and no welts would show up on my skin.”

“So you can be injured, but the injury does not last?” asked Thor.

Cora nodded.  She shifted her weight in her chair.  “To be honest, I’m surprised I’m still hurting right now.”

Loki tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear.  “Magic harms the body differently than something physical.  It goes deeper. I could probably help alleviate the pain, if--”

“No, I’m fine.  It’s getting better, just...slowly.”

Well, he had _tried_.  Stubborn woman.  Loki might have smiled if thinking about it did not make him so miserable.

“But as a child it was different?” Thor continued, “Everything seemed normal for a human.  You were sick, you got hurt. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I think so, but it isn’t something you think to take stock of when you’re little.”

“How old were you when you married?” Thor asked.

“Sixteen,” said Cora.

Loki cringed reflexively.  He glanced at Thor and saw his jaw was clenched tight as well.  A sixteen-year-old Asgardian was literally a child. And his experiences on Midgard gave him severe doubts that for humans it was much different.

Thor scratched the edge of his beard as if to loosen the muscles there.  “Did you ever have any children?”

Cora pulled a shallow breath.  “Yes. One.”

It came as no surprise.  Not really. Loki had lived long enough to see the roles of Midgardian women spanning centuries.  What was expected of a young wife of her time but to produce children and raise them?

A new light was cast upon Cora, but no, not a surprise at all.  She was a mother, she had borne a child.  It was naught but new information.

So why Loki could not account for the heaviness in his breast, except that it seemed plainly obvious that the child had no presence here in Seine?  They would have to be well over a hundred, as well.

Loki suddenly felt very cold.

“And that was a normal human experience?” Thor continued.  “Did it take the typical amount of time? Your menstrual cycle is the same as other women?”

Loki could not believe was he was hearing.  “Thor!” he blurted. “Might I suggest a bit more delicacy?”

Thor leaned back in his chair, regarding Loki with a note of exasperation and vague apology, but mostly supreme awkwardness.  His cheeks had flushed. “It differs. The human gestation period is exceptionally short.”

“Still…”

Cora, however, reacted with only a calm chuckle.  “It’s fine. My cycle has always been somewhat irregular, a little longer than it should be.  And I did go a few weeks overdue. Is that significant?”

“It might be,” said Thor, as his eyes narrowed on the list in his hands.  He ran his index finger across the breadth of his mustache and sighed. “You child, your…?”

“Daughter,” Cora filled in quickly.

“Your daughter.  Was she…?”

Loki heard his brother swallow.  Thought he heard. It might have been the sound of his own heart in his ears.

Cora picked up her journal and placed it in her lap.  “She died in nineteen-sixty-seven, so no, she wasn’t like me.  Whatever it is that’s caused this, I didn’t pass it on to her.”

There was lead in her voice, something heavy that required no explanation.  Slowly, Loki released a breath he had not realized he was holding. Her daughter had lived to old age.  That was best of all possible ends to the story, was it not? Better than what he had feared.

But not by much, for the daughter must have grown old while Cora remained unchanged and forced to watch, helplessly.  Staying behind while someone beloved passed on, there was always guilt in that. Eternal guilt.  After all, how often had he come close to seeing his mother again, Norns willing that he was remotely worthy a place in Valhalla beside her, only to be thrown back among the living?

Cora herself had alluded to testing just how indestructible she truly was.

Loki pulled a long, slow breath to refill his lungs, drawing in with it the fresh but cognitively dissonant scent of Cora’s washed hair.  It was a floral bouquet, but it had nowhere to take root in the dry fields of his mind.

Cora cleared her throat, snapping him back to attention, and Thor too, by the way he jolted.

“I’m aware this all sounds terribly depressing,” she said.  She offered a weak but sincere smile, one which touched her eyes.  “But you have to understand, it was a long time ago. I’m not saying that it wasn’t devastating, but I put myself back together.  I finally went to school. I started a life, a real career.”

Beneath the table, Loki pressed his nails into the flesh of his palm.  He wanted to believe her. He _did_ believe her.  But nothing in life was more riddled with complication than starting it all over again.  The pain did not shed itself like snakeskin with each rebirth. Wounds reopened, blood flowed fresh until everything scabbed over, the scab itself never truly became a scar.  Only a different kind of eternity could provide enough time to heal.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut.  If they saw, this time it could not be helped.

“And what became of your husband?” asked Thor.

“After Sophie’s birth, he disappeared. To tell the truth, I don’t think he was entirely what you would call well.  Mentally, I mean. Which is… Well, back then, it wasn’t something that could be helped very much. And Sophie was born frail.  She did well, given everything, but it might have been more than he was able to handle. I never wished him ill, but our marriage was not what you could call..."  Her eyes had rolled toward the ceiling, shifting back and forth as she plodded through her deepest memories.  “It wasn’t that I felt nothing for him, but I could only feel so much. Does that make sense?”

Loki gave a single nod.  Everything she was telling them made so much sense that it was almost unbearable.  He had to wonder if access to his magic was not somehow making hearing all of this worse, multiplying every reaction in an exponential fashion.  He hated each word that fell from Cora’s lips.

“What was his name?” Loki asked.

“Alec.”

Alec.  He hated Alec, too.  He did not care whether it was fair or not.

“Did you say you had a collection of things you saved over the years?”  The question came from Thor. If he was attempting to change the subject, then Loki was profoundly grateful.

“Yes,” said Cora, “But they really only pertain to the theory of being Asgardian.”

At that, Thor pushed back his chair and stood.  “Good. Because that is my best theory, as well.”

Loki lifted his head.  His shoulders went down.  But as he watched the weight on Cora’s face dissolve, he did not think his brother’s insistent clinging to his belief quite so imbecilic.  Maybe it was not wishful thinking or false hope. Maybe it was just… hope.

But what could Loki make of hope?  All he knew was that he had never been one to offer much of it, not the sort Cora wanted.

“Really?” she asked.

But let them have their hope.  Loki did not speak. He would not interfere.

Thor nodded.  “Yes. If you show me where it is, I will help you carry everything down.”

Loki watched his brother stretch out his hand.  She took it. With a gentle tug, he pulled Cora to her feet.  Her unsteady limbs gave a shudder as she led the way forward, but her movements were direct, more focused than before.  She walked back to the staircase by the refrigerator. His brother followed.

Cora gave a look over her shoulder before disappearing.  Loki stared back blankly.

It was not until they were gone that Loki fully realized that he had been left sitting on his own.  Or he had not been left, but he remained nevertheless. His formerly electric limbs had become languid.  The empty space pressed in on him. He listened to the sound of footfalls grow soft and vanish as they made their way down the hall, into Cora’s room, he assumed.

Loki lifted his glass and tipped it back only to discover that it was empty, aside from a few lonely drops that rolled across his lips.  Loki squinted into it, through the clear bottom to the sink on the other side of the room. His ears perked up at the sound of a heavy thud.  He listened for his brother’s return, but everything went silent once more.

A scowl tightened his focus as he lowered the glass, setting it on the table.  Loki rose from the chair and walked to the base of the staircase, only to pause again before climbing.  They had to be nearly finished. Maybe it was better to wait. He would probably get in the way.

Why did his spirits feel so like lead?  He had what he wanted, after all, he had his magic.  He ought to have been satisfied.

Loki forced himself to mount the staircase.  Four steps up, a corner to turn, four more steps.  He reminded himself of the previous night when Cora had thrown her arms around his neck for giving her the list.  Not everything between them had been misery.

He wished he had never gone to Trondheim.

But if he had not, where would they be at present?  Exploring churches, with he no closer to regaining his magic and Cora’s secrets buried deep with he and Thor unable to help?  So the chaos he injected had some merit, did it not? Nothing was unfolding as Loki envisioned, but given the alternatives, it might have been worse.

Mental gymnastics, all of it.  He clenched his teeth.

Once more, Loki lingered without going forward, now at the top of the staircase.  He could see the two of them through the open bedroom door. Cora was pointing at something inside her closet and Thor was stretching his arms toward whatever the something was.

She caught sight of Loki and smiled, beckoning him to come closer.

Loki felt… He felt his body utterly betray him all over again.  His limbs seemed to disintegrate. It was enormously uncomfortable.  And sweeter than ambrosia.

“You want to carry something?”

He pressed his palms together, proving to himself that he could still move.  “I suppose that’s why I came up.”

In a few steps, he was inside the room with them.  He took in the new surroundings with a quick circle of his eyes.  Just like every other room, the walls were covered with Cora’s displays, though the collection was more harmonious here, serene, mostly art and photographs, many of them nature scenes.  The window dressings and the quilt on the bed were in peaceful shades of blue, like cool water.

There was a rubbery plastic box at his feet.  Loki crouched down and lifted it.

“Thanks,” said Cora.  “I don’t want Thor pulling a muscle.”

“Ah,” chirped Loki.  “Then make sure he doesn’t drop anything on his head.”

Thor _harumphed_.  Cora laughed, more heartily than the line deserved.  She raised a hand to steady herself, placing it on Loki’s shoulder blade as he turned.

He turned back.  Cora dropped her hand.

Her face bloomed with a flush of pink.  It was... _good_ to see her with a healthy glow for the first time since the explosion.  Loki traced her face with his eyes, tallying each sign of wellbeing and vigor.

“Don’t make me laugh,” she said.  “It hurts.”

“What a shame,” said Loki.  “I consider making you laugh a bit of a sport.”

The blush across Cora’s face deepened to a rich shade of crimson.  The corner of her mouth twitched, which she fought with feigned indignance, pursing her lips together before she lost her restraint and snorted.

To Loki’s absolute delight.


	17. Vin

Before long it turned into something of a party.  Snacks were turned out, wine was poured, Cora introduced the Odinson brothers to music called ‘punk rock’ which grew on Loki with an ease that surprised him almost as much as Cora’s insistence that it was her _favorite_ music.  She told stories of wild nightclubs in London, Edinborough, and Oslo in the nineteen-seventies and eighties, about sporting shaggy bleached hair and leather necklaces.  Loki could not believe it _at all_ until she showed him a photograph and then _oh_ _how_ he would never look at Cora quite the same way again.

The chunky boots she was so attached to a suddenly made great deal more sense.

“I went through a bit of a phase,” she said.  “A fun one, though.”

“You don’t live for over a hundred years without going through a few phases,” said Thor as he passed the photograph back to Cora, who was not currently wearing those quintessential boots of hers.  She, along with everyone else, was down to her stocking feet.

Loki snickered into his wine.  “Indeed, Brother. Why don’t you tell her about how you would ask me to turn you into a goat so that you could play with all of the other little baby goats?”

Thor’s face turned a shade to match the deep blush of the drink in his hands.  “That was one time! And I was a child.”

“You were eight-hundred-fifty,” retorted Loki with a sardonic smile.

The items in Cora’s boxes were both neatly organized and somewhat strewn together.  There were folders fat with legal records that stretched back for generations, tidily stacked.  Yet, once opened, the order in which they were meant to be perused existed in no one’s head but her own, as though she had been through them so many times that the order itself had ceased to be necessary.

There were birth records for great-uncle _this_ and great-great-grandmother _that_ , a strain of distant cousins who had somehow ended up in South Africa.  More critically, there were death certificates and, aside from Cora, no indication of superhuman longevity.  And she attested that, of those still living, all seemed to be aging at a normal rate. She had also collected charters from centuries-old whaling ships and copies of Viking journals written in runic Old Norse, ancient pseudo-relatives whose blood may or may not have actually flowed through Cora’s veins.  No stone was left unturned.

Yes, she had been meticulous; she had followed every thread, no matter how tenuous.  Loki reserved judgment that it resembled the obsession of a madwoman, but honestly, it was just as he expected.  And Cora, if anything, was too sane for her own good.

But the unfortunate fact remained: it was a search for a needle buried in a bail of hay and they were digging blindly.  The deeper they delved into nothing, the more Loki’s small hope faded along with it. They needed something more, something solid.  He just had no idea what it was.

Utterly absent from the boxes was any reference to Cora’s daughter, Sophie, or her capricious husband.  Loki suspected that he would find much about them in the leather journal which had vanished collecting the boxes from Cora’s room.  Some things, perhaps, were too delicate to dig through in such fashion. It was just as well. Alec was not Cora’s blood and Sophie’s death ruled out that she carried whatever power sustained her mother.

He was not eager to bring either of them up.  Not now. Not while Cora was smiling so easily.  Not while she was hopeful. Loki knew he could be a bit of a boot, but he was determined not to crush that hope of hers.

He caught himself frowning into his wine glass and warmed himself by finishing what was left and then poured another.

Cora was staring at him as he placed the battle to the side.  She was sitting on her knees, almost kneeling. Her eyes glittered.  It was probably from the wine. He blamed his sudden but brief loss of his balance on the wine as well.

He probably ought to stop drinking, soon.

“What?” he asked.

“Is it true that you turned yourself into a mare and gave birth to an eight-legged foal?”

There was a moment of blunt silence and then Thor grabbed his sides with a burst of laughter that shook him so roughly that it seemed painful.

Loki turned all of the sharp angles of his face toward his brother.  “I still hate you for that.”

“Oh, is that the reason?” said Thor, fighting to regain control of himself.  “That explains a lot.”

“It isn’t true, then?”  Cora _tsked_ and shook her head.  “Pity.”

Loki blasted air from his nose in unfortunately horse-like fashion.  “Sleipnir was our father’s steed and Thor had the _hilarious_ idea to show up to some druid wedding riding him and told them it was me in disguise.”

“I _did not_ tell them.  They assumed because your reputation precedes you.  You visited Midgard in too many disguises. For the longest time, I’m not sure anyone knew what you really looked like.”

“If you were not toying with them, then explain how the story shifted to Sleipnir being my child.  Seems a bit of a stretch to say they came up with that on their own.”

Thor clicked his tongue.  “I don’t recall. There was an obscene amount of alcohol involved, even for me.”

“They wrote it down in the Edda, Thor!”

Cora, who up till now had watched with a quiet and wry smirk, imposed her voice on what threatened to become a squabble.  “I’m sorry, but what is it that offends you more: the fact that Thor lied to them or that they believed it?”

Loki pressed his teeth into his lower lip.  What annoyed him, if he was being honest, was the loss of any semblance of control, to have his name and talents dragged into one of Thor’s youthful hairbrained pranks.  Humans were a naive lot. He would have said as much had he not suspected Cora would take offense, as she had previously.

He rolled his eyes.  “I object to the idea that, were I a horse, I would be tame enough to ride.”

Cora blinked.  “I can’t argue with that.”

Loki lifted his glass to her in salute.  “For the record, if I wanted to, I _could_.  Probably.  But it takes a full solar year for a horse to gestate.  It isn’t something one does on a whim.”

With a snicker, Cora shook her head.

The afternoon gave way to the steadily encroaching polar night.  Before long, the daylight hours would be nearly non-existent. Cora offered to order dinner and asked what everyone thought of sushi.  In spite of the setting sun, it was still rather early to think about dinner, but no one objected, also quite possibly due to the wine.

“You have sushi in Norway?” asked Loki, surprise causing his voice to lilt in an almost sing-song fashion.  He liked sushi _very_ much.

“Technically, we’re closer to Japan that you are back in New York,” Cora replied dryly.

She tiptoed across the room, around a veritable traffic jam of documents spread over the floor.  Loki’s eyes followed her steps, amused by her off-balance gait and the exaggerated sway of her hips.  She was widest in that spot, curved like a vase; the periphery of his vision slowly faded to gray.  He was staring.  He advised himself against it and turned away, though it took a few seconds for his eyes to obey orders.  The wine was making him stupid.

Loki to turned back to the papers in his hands, stealing a glance at his brother along the way.  Thor appeared preoccupied with a roll of microfilm and Loki shook his head at himself. His eyes struggled to focus on the Norwegian legal documents between his fingers.

His eyes wandered back to Cora, not involuntarily.  He wondered how his brother could maintain his attention on other things.  Not that… Well, Thor could what he wished, Loki did not care.

The order Cora placed sounded like some manner of a feast.  Loki turned to Thor and lifted his brows high. Thor mirrored his impressed expression and he stretched his arms overhead.  He winced. They had been more or less hunched over for hours. Even an Asgardian’s back could only take so much before it stiffened.

“Have some more wine,” suggested Loki.  “As a muscle relaxant.”

“Excellent suggestion,” said Thor.

He refilled his glass and for a few seconds, there was only the sound of the emptying bottle’s glug-glug-glug.  And then for a short time afterward, there was no sound at all.

It was Cora who broke the silence.

“Thor...”  The pensive, low timbre of Cora’s voice beckoned their attention.  She took a moment to swipe a finger across the phone screen, ending the call, and frowned.  “When we were in the cafe, you mentioned something about Tony Stark and a blood test. What was that about?”

Thor’s eyes widened.  And then his brows fell very low.  “Right. Well… To be honest, I’m not certain the idea is in your best interests.”

“You said he was your friend.”

“Yes, but that only means he’s under as close of a watch as Loki and I.  Even a man such as Stark can’t be one-hundred-percent impervious. I’m not certain it’s worth the risk.”

“It’s that dangerous?”

Thor sighed.  “I do not know, but I would wait.  Let’s see what we can ascertain ourselves.”

“You’re ignoring the obvious,” Loki chimed in at last.  He felt their eyes turn to him and he lifted his face from the page he had been not really reading.  “It’s utterly redundant. Do you think Stark has a database of alien genetics? The only conclusion he could come to is either _human_ or _not human_.  It would hardly be any help to us.”

Pressing her lips together, Cora turned away and began to pace.  She folded her arms tightly across her chest. Loki’s mouth went dry.  A beat passed and Thor rolled his broad shoulders as though he was winding up.

“What?” Loki asked.

“There is a third possibility that Stark suggested: a genetic mutation.”

Loki raised an eyebrow.  He did not know what he expected Thor to say, but it was not that.  “A mutation that prolongs health and youth? Mutations don’t do that, Thor.”

“Stark didn’t say much about it, but he suggested that it’s something Ross has been looking into, something they want to keep quiet.”

Loki’s eyes widened in a rare open display of surprise.  He almost asked Thor if he was being serious. Instead, he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue and scowled.

Thor shook his head.  “I don’t know anything else about it, but I would prefer we not send blood samples until we truly have no other option.”

Turning back to face them, Cora gave a sober nod.  “Then how do we begin to rule things out?

Loki dipped his eyes back to the documents in his lap.  The black print slowly defocused as his mind passed through the page, burrowing toward a deeper place to think.  Thor and Cora continued to speak in the background, but their voices faded to a hum.

There was one option no one had suggested.  Not yet. Not even he. It was invasive and risky and it might not get them any closer to solving Cora’s mystery, but it was, perhaps, something worth trying.

At the center of Loki’s being, his stomach gave a twist.  The rough physical sensation caused his head to clear, as though being shaken out of a dream.  “Cora... “ His voice was low and halting. “Would you... have any objection to... a few tests of our own design?”

“ _Our?_ ” asked Thor.

“ _My_ design,” said Loki.

“What kind of tests?” she asked.

Thor leaned in.  “Yes, Loki. What kind of tests do you propose?”

Loki swallowed.  His throat had thickened.  “I could… explore a few of her memories.”

Cora’s brow knit.  Her eyes drifted from Loki to Thor and back again, asking questions without words.  Loki likewise caught his brother's eye. He watched Thor twist where he sat.

“What do you expect to see?” Thor asked.

Loki raised a shoulder.  “How could I know? But… We’re not making any headway doing this, are we?”  He gestured about the room. The floor was coated with papers like tile, bearing only the vaguest semblance of organization.  “There’s nothing here. We do not have the information we need.”

“Which is?” asked Thor.

“I might be something trapped in Cora’s mind.  Something visual.”

“Could someone explain what _‘explore my memories’_ means?” Cora interjected.

“You have to have some idea of what you’re looking for,” said Thor, his eyes still locked on Loki, “Or you would not have suggested it.”

Loki tilted his head.  “Well, for one thing, we don’t have proof that Cora is the biological child of her parents.”

“Excuse me?” blurted Cora, and this time they at last turned their eyes toward her.  Her glare was both fire and ice.

With a frown, Loki turned away.  His stomach continued to tie itself in knots.  He did not particularly want to excavate the tunnels of her subconscious, but he was willing if she would agree.  The only thing he truly did not want was for her to be a fool. Once, he had been a fool, believing in a childhood which had never truly been his.

“Do you think I left something out?”  The pitch of Cora’s voice rose, as though she was chasing him down.

Loki shook his head.  His eyes bore holes into the floor.

“I’ve assessed _every_ possibility,” she asserted.  “I’ve never cared what the truth might turn out to be.  I’ve only ever wanted the truth.”

Loki swiveled back to her, but before he could speak, she drove ahead.  His face became hot, but she had been utterly overtaken be emotion. With arms outstretched, she gesticulated to the map of paperwork that surrounded them.  Like a drowning person.

“I didn’t make any mistakes, I didn’t leave any stones unturned.  This is my family. The answer is somewhere lost in all of this.”

“ _This…”_ Loki hissed.  It sounded like steam rising from this throat.  “Is a collection of unremarkable human beings who lived and died, as every man and woman has ever lived and died.  It is a collection of _nothing_.”

Cora blanched, stumbling backward as though she had been struck.

His mouth hung open long after the words left his lips, in horror, in breathlessness.  Could he blame the wine, he wondered, though every ounce of it seemed to have suddenly evaporated from his system.  The once-sweet flavor of it went sour on his tongue as he watched Cora continue to back away. Her body met the edge of the counter.  She clasped her hands into tight fists.

The only sound in the room was Thor’s labored breathing.  Low and rhythmic, it sounded like a pulse. Or perhaps what Loki heard was the sound of his own blood _wooshing_ furiously in his ears.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed his mouth to begin moving.  “I should not have said that.”

Cora trembled as she pushed herself away from the counter.  “Do you know how many years I’ve been piecing this together?”

“Yes,” affirmed Loki without hesitation.

“I know you hate everything about this place.  I heard what you said earlier, that you wouldn’t wish to be human on your worst enemy.”

He felt his stomach sink impossibly further.  Through the floor, perhaps. Cora’s face was still white, but her eyes had gone red.  Barely contained anger radiated from her like heat and for a moment Loki sat in awe of it, somewhat frozen, like one staggered by the brilliant flash of light off a flying dagger.

She pressed her index finger to her chest.  “It’s part of me. It doesn’t matter if it’s by blood or not.”

A little time passed, perhaps a full minute, and no one did anything.  No one moved. Loki and Thor remained on the floor. Cora stood on the other side of the room.  She did not appear to be waiting for a reaction or apology. She merely remained where she was, stonelike.

And it felt like there was a lump of lead in the center of Loki’s chest where his heart ought to be.

He felt lightheaded as he began to push himself to his feet.  Perhaps there was still wine coursing through him after all, but really, all of his blood seemed to have pooled in his gut.  He did not even fully realize he was standing until he had already risen. It felt more like floating away.

It was his brother’s voice which broke through before Loki’s own.  Thor cleared his throat to start. It might not have been a true attempt to garner everyone’s attention, but it grated on Loki all the same.

“Loki has always had a complicated relationship with the people of Midgard--”

With a swipe of his hand, Loki silenced his brother.  It was astonishing that it worked on the first try, but there was no time to linger on that.  He looked at Cora and took a measured breath.

After everything they had been through and the guilt he felt for nearly all of it, he did not know why he had snapped, why he had failed to see his own hypocrisy.  He had grown frustrated on her behalf, but that was not a worthy excuse. He wanted to be able to give her something.  He had momentarily lost control.

Cora was beginning to look as though she was waiting for him to say something now, with her brows drawing together.  Loki glanced down at his hands.

“I won’t do you the disrespect of lying to you,” he said, lifting his eyes.  “You’re right. I’ve never been overly fond of this planet. But it is your homeworld and I regret speaking of it so disparagingly.”

She released a long-held breath.  “Why do you think so little of us?  Compared to you, we may be simple. I won’t deny it.  But to hate us for that...”

“It isn’t that.  Not exactly.”

“What then?”

He looked to the side, as if there was a memory located at the periphery of his vision, and gave his head a little shake.  “Humanity has never cared much for me, even before New York.”

Cora’s drawn brows became a scowl of confusion.  “You were revered as a god.”

“As a villain.  I was made into an archetype: needlessly vindictive, practically unhinged.  They delighted in stories about my punishment and torture. Some of them made me into a joke, they humiliated me for sport.  You’ve read them. You know.”

Cora’s shoulders lowered from their position beside her ears.  She gave a nod.

“I don’t deny that I played a few tricks.  I earned a reputation for being… _wily_.  What else was I to do?  Humanity at that time expected godlike feats.  Thor earned his prestige by being everything he is, and I... I needed to make my mark in a different manner.”  Loki shrugged. “It’s possible I was too sophisticated for them to fully appreciate.”

Cora rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed a smile.  It put some warmth into Loki’s cheeks.

For a brief moment, anyway.

“I don’t know at what point their opinion of me turned.  They saw something in me that was…” He paused and shook his head again.  “Something that easier to call maliciousness than...”

Even Loki did not know what to call it.

_It._

The shadow in his own mind.

 _It_ was bed sheet entangling his limbs, tripping him in the dark.   _It_ had always been there.  He had been born wrapped up in _it._  There were times when he hated _it_ , when it blinded him and he could not see more than mere inches in front of his face.  And there were times when _it_ seemed so much a part of him that he wrapped himself in _it_ up to keep warm.

“Yes,” said Cora.  “We don’t like it when things aren’t in black-and-white.  Typically. Not everyone.”

“I am the very pink of _gray_.”

She smiled sadly.  Loki sighed.

“So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not eager to, well, forgive.  And since New York, it’s doubtful humanity and I will sit at the table to talk out our differences any time soon.”

Behind his back, Loki heard Thor shift his weight.  He had been silent for an uncharacteristically long period of time.  Now, he made a dower pronouncement: “I daresay Ross and Strange have brought a few of those horrific myths to life.”

Loki looked over his shoulder.  Thor was sitting with his knees drawn close, his arms pulling them toward his chest.  He looked strange, almost childlike, though his gaze was set impossibly far away. His words blamed Ross, but his eyes betrayed him.

It seized Loki’s heart.  He wished his brother would stop causing that sort of thing to happen.

“Thor…”  Loki waited for him to lift his eyes.  “I swear if you do not stop blaming yourself...”

“You’ll what?” he asked, as Loki’s voice trailed off.

“I don’t know.  But it won’t be something you’ll enjoy.  I swear it.”

Thor blinked and a slow smile spread across his begrudging features.

Loki smiled, as well.

He turned back to Cora.  She had taken a few steps from the kitchen counter.  With her nose pointed toward the floor, she navigated through the papers.  “I think part of the problem is that we all might be exhausted.” I was a gentle reprieve.

“Think?”  Thor laughed grimly.  “My brain feels like someone flattened it with an iron.”

Loki chuckled, but he wished he could relate.  His mind and every neuron attached still felt as though it was racing lap ahead of his body and he wished it would all slow the hell down.  He was simultaneously overstimulated and burnt out, and he was certain sleep would elude him tonight.

Step-by-step, Cora shortened the space between them.  Her knotted features had smoothed over and in her fatigue they hung somewhat, with eyes that bore the same dark circles they had since last night.

He generally regarded regret as an unhelpful, sentimental emotion, but he could not deny that he felt it acutely.

Loki stood still.  “I am sorry for saying it.  I do mean that.”

With a faint smile, she placed a hand on his arm.  She remained there for a moment, so briefly that Loki could hardly call it lingering, and continued on her path to the center of the room, where the empty boxes sat.  Loki moved too haltingly to catch her eye before she was already behind him. Instead, his gaze touched the spot where her fingers had landed.

In something like a dream, he took that hand and brought it to his lips.  He breathed in the perfume she dotted on her wrists. He closed his eyes and pulled in her scent so very deeply.  He _ached._

When reality seeped in once more, Loki turned around.  Cora was standing over the boxes, in the midst of releasing a sigh.  “I think we’ve done enough for one day, yeah? Let’s just... eat sushi and talk about anything else but this, and then we can all pass out.”

Thor rose to his feet.  “That is an exquisite plan.  Though I’m not certain either Loki or myself can fit on your couch.”

Loki shrugged.  “I can always conjure up something bigger.”

Thor drew back his head, lifting an eyebrow along with it.  “I wasn’t serious. We’ll go home, of course.”

_Oh._

His cheeks flushed with a prickly warmth.  Loki quickly bent down to pick up whatever paper happened to be closest his feet.  Perhaps his brain was grinding to a halt after all.

“I know.  I was joking, as well.”  He carried off the randomly selected paper and pretended to read it.  If Thor was still shining that ridiculous expression in his direction, then it was better for everyone involved that he did not see it.

“Maybe we can explore Haddel tomorrow,” said Cora, after a moment of quiet.

Ah!  So, at last, they were back to talking about stave churches.  Good. Loki had been wondering if there would ever be any mention of that again, though he would have welcomed any shift in topic.

“Of course!” Thor all but chirped.  He was audibly beaming. “Yes, that would be excellent!  Tomorrow morning. Yes. Loki, does that suit you?”

“It suits me fine,” he replied, still wandering in the opposite direction.

“I’m glad you suggested it, Cora.  I didn’t want to sound as if I only have a one-track mind.”

Loki clenched his teeth to keep from laughing.

“No, I think it would be good,” she said.  “It will clear our heads. Hopefully.”

“I am certain it will.”

With that, Thor announced that he was going to wash up before the food arrived and made his way up the staircase.  The bathroom door closed and the lock clicked and Loki finally gave up staring through the paper in his hands. The flush of embarrassment had already subsided anyway.

He looked back to see that Cora was standing in the same spot, her arms folded.  Their eyes met right away. Loki crossed the room to return the paper to its proper location on the floor.  He smiled to himself. At himself, really.

“It would be a tragedy if a gust of wind were to destroy all our hard work when the sushi arrives,” he commented.

But she did not laugh.  And Loki rose to find Cora stone-faced and serious.

“Loki,” she said.  “What’s keeping you here?”

"I’m sorry?”

“On Earth.  I assume you can get far enough away from Ross and the doctor so that they couldn’t track you.”

“That’s true.  Easily, I might add.”  He glanced in the direction on the ceiling, in case they had lied about everything and we're still watching him from on high.

“Then why don’t you?” she asked.  Were it not that she seemed deathly serious, Loki would have wondered if she was teasing him, but what her expression bordered on was _concern_.

He raised his shoulders.  “I’m here to help Thor.”

“With the staves?”

“Yes.  But now it’s turned into helping you.”

Cora nodded.  The corner of her mouth twitched.  “Yesterday you were trying to destroy me,” she said.

“I’m fickle like that.”

“But why?”  She came a few steps closer.  “Because I told you the truth?  Because of the vision? You hate it here.  You don’t _have_ to do anything you don’t want to do.  Thor would forgive you if you decided to leave.  I think he actually might be relieved, knowing you’re safely far from everyone.”

Loki worked his jaw for a moment.  “Why did I change my mind about you?  Is that what you’re asking?”

“Yes.  No. I’m asking... ”  She looked down at the floor and tapped her foot.  “Sometimes I get the feeling that you… I’m not sure what to call it.  That you can _relate_ to me.”

Loki blinked.

“Or I don’t know.  Maybe not. I say things and… they seemed to register.”

He rolled his shoulders.  Thor had confessed to telling her many things about him, but he could only guess as to what, beyond the certainty that she knew about his falling from the Bifrost.  It stood to reason that she had been made aware of the details of his heritage, as well--which made his cruel comment all the more inappropriate. But it did not bother him that she probably knew, not at the moment.  It might later, when he became irritated with Thor for some unrelated thing.

Loki nodded slowly.  “I know what it’s like to lose your identity and how painful that can be,” he said.

Perhaps, one day, he would actually tell her about some of it.  Himself.  From his own lips.  Not Thor's.

She had come to stand only a few feet away, just beyond an arm’s length, though her own arms were still folded over her chest and rather tightly, as well.  She looked as though she was hugging herself, gently massaging her arms.

Loki anxiously scratched at the center of his palm.  “And Ross used me to get to you and I detest being used.”

Cora chuckled.  A few low notes rang from the center of her chest.

Loki sighed.  “And… You’ve been very kind to me today.  You took care of me when I didn’t deserve it.  And _do not_ attempt to argue with me about that.  I treated you cruelly. I brought you that photograph with every intention of hurting you with it.”  He paused, uncertain if his anxiety was dissipating or still mounting. He felt off-balance. Thor would return soon and had he even a few seconds more to think, Loki may very well have talked himself out of what came next from lips.  “Do you forgive me?"

With a jerk, Cora’s arms began to part from their station around her chest.  She looked as just surprised as Loki expected. “Yes,” she said. “I forgive you.”

Loki gave his own hands a quick shake alongside his legs.  “Thank you.”

They stared one another.  What else was there to do?  A beat passed. Upstairs, the bathroom door opened and giving both of them a start.  The door scraped against the frame and Loki nearly jumped out of his skin.

Cora pursed her lips, battling a smile.  “We’re being silly,” she said.

Loki’s breath caught.  “How?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again.  Her smile faded. “I don’t know.”

Cora took another step toward him when a floorboard at the top of the staircase creaked.  Her round eyes flashed. Loki twisted around to steal a furtive glance at the entryway. Was she about to embrace him again, as she had the night before?  Were they now friends, to be made official by some outward display of affection?

Could he risk Thor witnessing such a thing?  He would never hear the end of it.

Loki’s heart pressed itself against the frame of his ribcage, fluttering like a bird.  It was an uncomfortable, a manic sensation.

But when he turned back, Cora was no longer moving towards him.  She had begun to walk away. He watched her pick up an empty wine glass from the far end of the counter and give it a disinterested sniff.  Another look across his shoulder proved that Thor had, at last, appeared in the room. Loki’s hands suddenly began to tingle with a rush of blood, as though some danger had passed.

He stood in the center of the kitchen, dumbly contemplating what the hell had just transpired in his mind.

He heard Thor throw himself onto the sofa with a grunt, apparently none the wiser, yet Loki felt no relief.  The bathroom was free and Loki took the opportunity to escape. He felt a bit sick, in all honesty. Once the door was shut, he immediately thrust his hands under a stream of cool water and, closing his eyes, he pulled a long breath into his lungs.

_Really Loki?  Threatened by a hug?  Thor’s right about you.  Outward displays of affection are not in your nature._

He chided himself mercilessly in the hope of relaxing into a smile.  It nearly worked, until the smile broke with a sigh. Loki watched the water spiral down the drain and shook his head.

So what if Thor had seen it?  What did that matter? He seemed intent on teasing him either way, with evidence or none.  And up till now, Loki had found it easy to deflect his brother’s comments on the basis that they were childish.

Loki lifted his gaze to the mirror and winced at his reflection, at the fan of lines beside his eyes and the exhaustion which had transformed them into ravines.  He had been young once, but it was becoming difficult to recall with certainty. Loki quickly switched his attention to the reflection of the room instead. Her gallery of curios did not extend to this space… which made sense.  It was a small, unremarkable room. There were a toilet and a tub, and a small frosted window, and soap that smelled of citrus.

Loki did not know why he was examining it so.

Very well.  He found Cora attractive, but he had acknowledged that from the start had he not?  He had not liked her very much then, but her face was sweet and expressive and an undeniable pleasure to observe.  He liked how she carried herself and how she dressed. He enjoyed the juxtaposition of her chunky black boots against her collection of soft woven sweaters like it was some sort of riddle--of course, everything about her had proven to be a riddle.

The corner of Loki’s mouth turned up, only to flattened once more.

Perhaps he never should have accepted her offer to take him shopping.  The explosion would have happened privately, in Thor’s apartment, and he never would have injured her in the cafe.  They very might as well still have ended up in Cora’s home, combing through her documents in light of Ross’s latest deal, but the surrounding circumstances would have been much altered, his guilt greatly lessened.

Or not.

Loki knew he was being willfully short-sighted.  There was the trip to Trondheim and Cora’s reaction to the photograph, and the subsequent visit to Thor's apartment which culminating in her embrace which had thrown him so off-balance.  He could not discount each step which had lead him to this point, examining the inner workings of his mind while hiding in a bathroom. Nearly killing her had only forced certain aspects into the light, and in the glow that exposure he had held her, caressed her, relished in her warmth.

Loki’s eyes widened.

What was the point of this?  Cora’s opinion of him was neutral at best.  Forgiveness she had given, but only minutes ago, he had sent her into a rage. It would only happen again. And again. And again.

Loki opened the door and stepped into the hallway.  Downstairs, he could hear chatter between Cora and what sounded to be the sushi delivery person.

They would eat and probably drink more wine.  They would eventually solve Cora’s mystery. They would find whatever his brother needed to satisfy this fool’s errand for his so-called relic.  And then he and Thor would leave this awful planet behind for good.

And he would leave Cora behind with it.


	18. Galakse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's very long day.

 

**Chapter 18: Galakse**

 

 

While in most ways nearly identical to the stave at Torgunn, Haddel was also, simply put, different, like cakes of contrasting flavors: Torgunn was chocolate, Haddel was more or less vanilla.  It still functioned as a parish of the Church of Norway and had undergone a massive restoration as recently in the nineteen-nineties, according to Cora. As a result, its condition was nearly immaculate, with perfectly preserved tapestries along the walls and ancient art encased in glass.  It was clean, almost antiseptically so. It was still beautiful, and at over twice the size of Torgunn, one could not call it anything but impressive. But Loki missed the dark and haunting charm of Torgunn.

Here, there was no breaking locks and slipping in and out before the Preservation Society made its rounds.  A parish church came with a parish priest, and they determined their best option was to visit as pilgrims, in the guise of what was commonplace.  While they searched for the rune-marked entryway into the hidden temple, other visitors came and went. Some were there to admire the architecture, some came simply to pray, and Loki found it jarring each time he passed someone on their knees.  Humans still did that sort of thing?

No, he knew that they did.  It was just astonishing to witness it.

And somewhat endearing.  A church and an ancient temple were much the same, a form of art when done properly, an offering made to something perceived to be holy, which at one time had been the royal family of Asgard.  But the modern man was seldom capable of acknowledging his smallness. Even Norway's grand staves were rarely still in use for their intended purpose. As an active church, Haddel was the exception.  Loki had vague respect for these kneeling few, a rare breed who, at least outwardly, appeared to have some understanding of their place in the universe.

But of all the prayers which might have been answered that morning, none belonged to Thor, Cora, or Loki.  Their work turned up no results, and by the time they departed in Cora’s undersized car, Thor had fallen sullen and disconcertingly silent.

Loki looked out the back window as they drove, taking in a sight he suspected he would never lay eyes upon a second time.  The sun was bright. The glare off of the lacquered pine was dazzling. From a distance, Haddel really was magnificent to behold, and when Loki turned to face forward once more, it was with a wistful smile on his face.

Cora bore a more serious expression, similar to Thor’s, and fatigue hung on her features.  Had she slept? Throughout the morning, Loki kept a watchful eye, wondering if she was still in pain from the explosion in the cafe.  She was favoring her right leg. Eventually, Cora accused him of hovering, and Loki spent the rest of their visit doing what he could to avoid crossing paths.

The guilt lingered.  He wished it would leave him be.

She otherwise seemed well.

Her eyes moved up and down, glancing at the rear-view mirror too often to be simply taking in the empty road.

“We have other Staves our the list,” she said, rather abruptly.  It was then Loki realized she had been checking on his brother. “We’ll find it.”

Thor sighed, but he did not reply.  Loki glanced at Cora. He could not quite conjure the same positive spirit.  But he hoped that she was right.

 

* * *

 

It was just before noon when Cora dropped the brothers at their apartment.  They ate lunch without much conversation. Loki could not help but wonder if Thor was reluctant to bring up the relic because he suspected Loki might be less than encouraging, which irritated him a little, though perhaps he had a point.  Thor was in a powderkeg of a mood. If the wrong words happened to fall from Loki’s lips, it would not serve either of them, so Loki skirted the issue, as well. It seemed like a kindness not to chance it.

When they had finished eating, Thor announced that he was going for a drink at “the pub.”  Loki did not know which establishment he was referencing, but no invitation was extended so it hardly mattered.  He did not feel slighted. Not really. Thor only retreated when it was necessary, when his emotions threatened to overwhelm.  It would not last long. They would regroup once the pain of failure was not so fresh.

But Loki appreciated solitude under most circumstances, so with Thor out, he was free to enjoy the quiet of the apartment without guilt--at least, without guilt pertaining to Thor.  Cora, however, was at last blissfully drifting from his thoughts, as well. Perhaps the true problem was that he had seen too much of her as of late. As time went on, when he and Thor left this planet behind, she would easily fade from his memory.

He entertained himself by testing his magic, mostly in silly ways.  He rearranged the furniture. And when he was done, he returned everything to where it had been, because it was rather nice that way, too.

The sun drifted through the windows with the same effect as a gentle breeze.  By the natural light, Loki read for an hour or so, leafing through books he found on the shelves, most of which proved more decorative than worthwhile.  The only one to hold his attention was a yellowed collection of poems written in Old Norse, but even then, not for very long.

In truth, he had already thoroughly surveyed the apartment.  What he had not explored was the town and, lest he fall asleep on the sofa, Loki decided that the time had come to do so.  He wrapped himself in his wool coat and pulled on his leather boots and before long he was deep within Seine.

The village was, by any standard, tiny, and yet Loki had still seen but a sliver of it.  Now, he wandered narrow streets between well-kept stone and wooden houses. He admired the carved gourds and jack-o’-lanterns that signaled the impending celebration of All Hallow’s Eve, which Loki had not witnessed for some centuries and was curious to see what had changed.

He discovered a hole-in-the-wall bakery, conjured _kroner_ to use as payment, and made his way down to the waterfront with a freshly rolled _lefse_ in-hand.  It seemed he had discovered the equivalent of a suburban quarter of the island.  The shopping district was nowhere in sight, nor were the commercial fishing boats.  These docks here were for personal vessels only, for small motor boats and kayaks. They bobbed and swayed on the water, clattering as their sides touched, creating a soft sort of music.

Loki sat on a bench and looked far across the water, to the white, flat-faced mountains in the distance.  A northern breeze carried his hair forward, into the frame of his gaze, and the dark tendrils danced in his periphery.  He had vague childhood memories of visiting places like this, with his mother when she “felt the need to escape,” which Loki had been too young to understand at the time.  He recalled walking behind her graceful steps, trying to imitate them, tripping over his faithful stuffed dog that, for a time, he refused to let go of under any circumstances.

He smiled.

Had it only been yesterday that he was lying on the bedroom floor, so sick that breathing had been a chore?  Now, he took deep pulls of the crisp air. It smelled of ice and cinnamon.

Though that was likely the pastry.

With a twist of his fingers at his side, a mug of steaming tea blossomed into existence.  Loki picked it up and brought it to his lips for a heady sip, immediately following with a bite of the buttery lefse.

Everything was peaceful and quiet and heavenly, and for the first time in what may have been months, Loki was conscious of being exactly where he wanted to be, even for only this exact moment in time.

There were no eyes upon him.  In a few interdimensional jumps, Loki could have easily put himself so far ahead of Strange and Ross that the scent would have gone cold before they realized he was gone.  And Cora may very well have been right: Thor would find it a relief to know his brother was, at last, no one’s prisoner.

After all, Thor had made promises to Ross, not he.   _His_ chains had been removed.  Loki could leave Earth behind immediately if he so wished.  A shimmer of light, and there would be no sign of his visit to Norway but an abandoned mug of tea.

But he had agreed to stay of his own free will.   _For_ Thor.  For Cora, too.  He did not mind.  He was already free.  Here. Now. Free to do exactly as he pleased.  And it pleased him to stay.

It made him… happy.

Once upon a time, Loki had not been quite as he was now.  Though it was becoming harder and harder to remember, he had been young.  He had been a child. Simple things pleased him and he had little desire for much else, for everything seemed more or less within reach.  He was a prince, he might one day be king, and until then, he was free to pursue whatever brought him joy.

What a strange thing for a young prince to discover that the greater his joy, the deeper seemed his father’s frown.

Now, sitting by the water, Loki sighed.  Would he continue to blame Odin for every wrong turn in his long life?

Yes.  Yes, he would.

With a grim chuckle, Loki shook his head.  Again, he glanced skyward, knowing his mother would want him to think the best of Odin, but sometimes the best he could offer was not thinking about him at all.

For now, Loki had no interest in dark thoughts.  He lifted his mug for another sip of tea and finished his pastry and allowed the magic of simple things to do the work of cleansing his mind.  Brushing the crumbs from his hand, a new glittering light appeared, and with it, a slip of paper: the list they had written for Cora. It was not the original, of course, but a copy.  Loki’s gaze rolled down each word in his and Thor’s alternating handwriting.

He was happy to help Thor and happy to help Cora.  Why worry about anything else? Soon, he would leave this planet behind, but Norway was a pretty place to spend a few days.

This was his final voyage.

 

* * *

 

It was not until the sun had just touched the horizon that Loki, at last, heard word from Thor.  He had slowly made his way back to the shopping district, glancing into _pubs_ for good measure, but his brother was not to be found.  Growing somewhat worried, Loki had just spotted the typeface sign for **_kaffepaus_** when Thor’s message came in the form of a _text_.

_Wheer u_

That was all it said.  It left Loki literally scratching his head for several seconds.  Thor was apparently blind with drunkenness. Fantastic. He was in a worse state than Loki surmised.  How he wished his brother would learn to cut his losses. Breathing a sigh, he began to type.

 _Out_ , said Loki.   _Where are you?_

Hopefully, he did not need to be carried home.  Loki drifted down the sidewalk, his eyes on the phone as he awaited Thor’s reply, but by the time he was standing in front of the coffee shop, none had yet come.

Someone had taped cardboard across the broken windows.  Loki wondered if it was Cora. Had he and Thor truly left her to do that herself?  Perhaps it had been a kind neighbor, but the off-chance possibility brought him little comfort.

He looked left and he looked right and then he touched the door with his palm.  No one seemed to be paying any attention. Loki closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was inside the cafe.  He snapped his fingers and a light appeared between them.

It was like being inside a cave.  The jagged maw of the broken pastry case resembled stalactites and stalagmites, his feet sloshed through chips of glass strewn across the floor like they were part of a glittering underground stream.

He sighed.

The phone vibrated.  He pulled it from his pocket, eager to look at anything else.

It said… _Apterment._

Just eloquent.

Loki rolled his eyes.  The entire day was going to be a loss.   _Shall I return?_ With that, he stuffed his phone into his pocket as deeply as it would go.

He walked around to the back of the counter, to Cora’s collection of toys and comforts.  It was was a pleasant surprise to find it mostly intact, although the Bowie doll with the oversized head had tipped over.  He stood it upright.

His phone vibrated again.  This time, Loki preemptively rolled his eyes.

 _Nap nop_ , said Thor. _Stay out til u heare form em._

Loki squinted so pointedly at the screen that he nearly pulled a muscle, mouthing the gibberish until it phonetically reorganized itself into some semblance of language.  He cursed the day Tony insisted that he and Thor begin using these infernal things.

It seemed he was on his own for dinner.

He mended the pastry case of his way out the door.

 

* * *

 

Returning to _Godt Brød_ was an easy decision.  It was the best restaurant in the village, although more accurately, it was a gastropub, which meant it was also a popular spot for what equated to nightlife in Seine.  Loki had not yet been out after dark and he was rather surprised to discover that nightlife existed at all, let alone a lively crowd gathered at the bar. Where were all of these people during the day?  Did they go fishing?

Soon, his nose was buried in a menu as he tested his modern written Bokmål.  He had eaten lightly all day and was in the mood for something substantial. A steak, perhaps.  Something to fortify him for whatever state Thor would be in when he returned to the apartment. Part of him hoped that Thor would take his _nap nop_ till morning.  And another part of him knew he would be very irritated with him if he did.

An abrupt outburst of laughter divided his attention.  Loki peered over the top of his menu, in the direction of the bar.  There was a co-ed cluster of what he surmised to be twenty-somethings.  Or perhaps they were older. What did he know? Loki had learned he could not trust his assessment of how humans aged.

The laughter bubbled up again, dancing off the lips of an impressively tall, redheaded woman in the group.  Loki would have called her gangly if her height suited her ill, but it did not. She cut a striking figure. She appeared to be Celtic, and her ringlets of cherry-colored hair were far and above worthy of…

Of what?  His attention?  Loki turned back to his menu and shifted from side-to-side in his chair.  His entire body seemed to itch. What had gotten into him, lately? Perhaps the desire he felt for Cora was merely another symptom of being restored to his long-withheld power.  A surge of energy, nothing more. Loki took some comfort in that possibility.

Freedom did funny things to a person.

He had always taken pride in being above... Well, in not being like Thor, who allowed his judgment to be clouded by emotion with alarming swiftness.  As if, of the two of them, _he_ was the more Jotun.  Asgardian reserve was a virtue Thor did not possess.

It was not that Loki felt nothing. There were times when he wondered if he felt _too_ much, if perhaps some animal Jotun quality would forever threaten to undo what he had cultivated.  There was hunger inside him.  It was unseemly.

A server appeared at the table.  Loki requested a few minutes to peruse the menu, though as the young man walked away, Loki realized he had no true reason to send him off.  He had already decided on a steak. It was as though he had momentarily forgotten what he was doing.

Loki placed his menu to the side, with no choice but to wait until the server… counted to a thousand or something.  Was there a protocol to follow when they were sent away? Did they have to serve every other table twice and then return?

The group at the bar appeared to be paying their bill, though Loki watched them only from the corner of his eye.  He kept his face forward and tried to look bored. Perhaps that would get someone’s attention.

Which it did.

It caught the attention of the last person Loki expected to accidentally stare down.

Cora.

His eyelids fluttered.  It crossed his mind that he could have been hallucinating, because it seemed far more likely than sheer coincidence.  But the longer Loki thought, the less implausible it seemed. This was her neighborhood, and Thor _had_ mentioned this was her favorite restaurant.  They were just down the street from her cafe. Perhaps she had come from there, assessing the damage.

Cora was standing at the hostess stand and, as she and Loki locked eyes, she jolted with a similar shock.  She lifted her hand and gave a wave, and he mirrored her gesture with a wave of his own.

The hostess turned around and pointed to Loki.

A second later, possibly less, Cora was being led through the restaurant.  The hostess placed a menu on the table and pulled out the empty chair, and then she left Cora to stare dumbly and blink.

It was Loki who spoke first, but _“Hello”_ was all he could manage.  He was rather focused on blinking himself.

“My plan was to get something to take home,” said Cora, bypassing hello altogether.

Loki’s eyes flicked toward the place setting across from him.  “They seem to think I was waiting for you.”

“I think they thought you were waiting for me.”  She said at the same time, causing a brief but impressive cacophony.  She paused. “Are you alone?”

He shrugged.  “Thor is busy with his project.”  Though the project turned out to be stupefying himself with alcohol, making himself useless to all of them.  Loki chose not to mention that part, though the bitterness in his voice was quite evident.

“No, I meant, did you want to eat by yourself?  I’m not sure if it would be more rude to leave at this point or to infringe on your night out.”

Beneath the table, Loki pressed his nails into the flesh of his palm, scraping until he felt a pinch and, at last, some measure of relief.  His vision cleared, though he had not been fully aware of it blurring in the first place. Cora was dressed as she had been earlier. Her hair was a bit mussed, flat on one side, suggesting that she had been napping through the afternoon.  Perhaps the decision to pick up dinner was one that had only been made minutes ago.

Honestly, she was a bit of a mess, but in the low ambient light, she seemed to glow from behind.

Loki realized he had been silent for a few seconds too long as Cora waved her hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.  “You eat. I’m going to get something to go.”

Loki quickly rose to his feet as she began to turn.  He did not really know why. His head was swimming. “You are more than welcome to join me,” he said, again, not knowing why, because he _did_ want to eat alone.  He just… could not fathom sending Cora away.

Cora arched a high eyebrow, as though she still did not fully believe him.  Perhaps she could see through him. She regarded Loki and the table for a moment, and then she began to unbutton her coat.  She took the empty seat, and Loki sat down as well, with more than a vague understanding that he may have just done something incredibly foolish.  Or foolhardy.

He folded his hands and scanned the room while Cora fingered her menu.  With her other hand, she brushed through her hair, bringing it back to life.  “I like your outfit.”

Loki glanced down at the clothing he was wearing, which happened to be something the two of them had picked out the day prior, at the boutique.  A small smile quirked on his lips. “Of course you do.”

The server, at last, returned, this time with a pitcher of water.  He filled their glasses and asked if Cora needed more time. Loki’s jaw involuntary clenched, but Cora shook her head.  She ordered a dish that consisted of potato dumplings and ham. When it was his turn, Loki quickly ordered his steak, and the server vanished back into the shadows.

Loki settled back into his chair.  His eyes circled Cora’s face. Her eyes appeared to do the same.  Everything about what was unfolding felt highly surreal. He began to absentmindedly trace lines in the condensation of his water glass.  “So… How did you spend your afternoon?”

“Catching up on sleep,” she replied.  “You?”

“I did a little exploring,” he replied.  “Which was restful in its own right. I saw that...” Loki gave in to the unexpected urge to clear his throat, “Someone taped up the broken windows in the cafe.”

“Yes.  That was kind of whoever it was.”  She paused for a moment. “Actually, I had assumed it was the two of you.”

No, it had not been them, but at the very least the task had not been left to her.  “It was not, but I stopped inside and tidied up a bit.”

“Really?”

“Just the pastry case.”

“That was… thank you.  How did you get in?”

Loki smirked.  “Do you need to ask?”

Understanding rapidly lit Cora’s face.  “Well… thank you,” she repeated, and Loki felt the release of a tight spot over his breastbone.  A breath came easily. Was he smiling? It felt as though he was smiling, but he would have to touch his face to be certain.

But it was a crooked smile that played upon Cora’s lips, and all too soon Loki’s brow began to feel heavy.  

“Loki,” she began--he knew she was gearing up to something.  “You have always been honest with me. Can I ask you something?  I’d like a direct answer.”

A pit seemed to open up in his stomach.  “You do know they call me the God of Lies.”

“I’m starting to think we misunderstood you completely.”  Cora took a breath and a sip from her water. “And sometimes I think Thor is trying the God of Trying To Protect My Feelings more than I would like, more than I feel comfortable with.”

She finished by wrinkled her nose.  Loki turned his attention to his silverware, aligning everything and making it straight.  “Yes, well, my brother has a habit of wanting something so much that, for him, it becomes the truth.  And I think part of him desperately wants you to be Asgardian because we lost so many.”

The words, however, tasted rather bitter on his tongue.  Thor had always been one to obsess over the unsolvable. Even Loki longed for Asgard in ways he never would have expected, but nothing would bring it back, especially not some relic of a bygone era, and it was healthier to accept that reality.  Cora was flesh and blood, and the problem she had placed in their lap one they could potentially solve.

His brother had gotten drunk over the wrong failure today.

“But you don’t think I am,” urged Cora.  There was bait in her voice, bait and pleading.

Loki raised his eyes to her.  How could he lie? “No… I do not believe you are Aesir.”

“And why is that?” she asked without pause.

Loki pressed his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth.  “I don’t know. Gut instinct.”

Cora tilted her head and stared him down...like a disappointed mother.

Loki sighed.  “You aren’t built like the Aesir.  You’re too _light_.  And, while it might be hard to do damage to us, we aren’t known for regenerating our cells quite as quickly as you seem able to do.”

“Then who is known for doing that?”

“Many people.  Though...it is strange that this wasn’t something you noticed until you had reached maturity.  Growing into your abilities is rather singular.”

“That’s code for _you have no idea._ ”  She chuckled, though briefly, and grimly.  “I was being honest. I know I got angry at you yesterday, but I don’t care what turns out to be the truth.  Even if I am human, somehow, that’s fine. I’ve spent decades following one, very specific thread, but now the entire universe has opened up.  There are more possibilities than there were before, not fewer.  That's exciting.”

Loki sipped at his water.  “That’s not a terrible way to look at it.”

But it was clear to him that she did not quite believe her own words.  Perhaps she did not believe them at all. Her eyes had become glassy in the dim light, reflecting the candle in the center of the table as it flickered.  She looked so lost and...lovely. Loki felt heat spread across the back of his neck and turned away. He was beginning to wonder if it was possible to look at her and not feel guilty for one thing or another, even for the warmth that pervaded him now.  It was ill-timed, it was thoroughly inappropriate, and yet he was helpless against it, this _desire_.  It was beginning to feel as though he was stealing something, even the mere pleasure of her company, and giving her nothing in return, especially when she was so miserable.

He clenched his jaw and thought for a silent moment.

“Cora…” he said, at some length, “Am I mistaken, or has Thor explained to you that he and I are not related by blood?”

She nodded slowly.  “Is it all right that I know?”

Loki gave a shrug.  “Since I promised not to lie, then I _was_ angry when I heard just how much he had told you without my knowledge, but what’s done is done.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“But did he explain the part that… that I am not Aesir?”

“You’re not?”

Loki’s ribs had already tightened.  His true parentage was something he did not talk about, not rarely, not at all, and his heart immediately began blasting in his ears at the mere thought of it.  Yet, here he was, willing, because it was something he could give her. “I was born in Jotunheim, to Jotun parents--to the king, actually. But I was small, so I was abandoned.  The Frost Giants would not stand for an undersized prince.”

“You’re not serious.  They would…?” But her words ended there.  Cora could not finish the question once she answered it for herself.

“It was Odin who found me.  He brought me to Asgard and cast a spell over me.”  Loki lifted his hands from the table, extending his fingers and turning his palms upward.  “Even I cannot undo it. I am eternally disguised. This has become my natural form. You would never know I was not Aesir.”

“What does a real Jotun look like?” she asked.

“Well, to start, they are blue.”

Cora’s eyes widened.  For a fraction of a second, she looked as though she might laugh as she pictured it, and then the expression slipped from her features.  “Wow...” she murmured.

Loki stole a moment to take a long pull from his cool water, as if it was medicine.  “Last night, you asked if I might occasionally find myself relating to you. And the answer is, yes.  I do. I lived most of my life believing that I was one thing and when I learned every word of it was a lie…  There are things I’ve experienced that I would not wish on anyone.”

“Me too."

He lifted his glass in a sort of toast, and waited for Cora to raise hers, as well.  “Aren’t we a fun pair?”

Their glasses clinked.  “But I still wouldn’t change anything in my life,” she said.  “It’s all connected. If you take away something that’s bad, then a good thing disappears along with it.  And some good things are... just _worth_ it.”

Loki touched the rim of his glass to his lips.  He did not have to wonder if she might be talking about her daughter.  In his long, occasionally arduous life, Loki had known one perfect good.  He had known love. He had known Frigga. He had known a mother.

And he suspected Sohpie, Cora’s daughter, had known such love.  No, Loki was certain. He knew it by the way Cora treated him, taking care of him when he did not deserve it, seeing that he was fed and well-dressed.  She had not written him off when it would have been so easy to walk away. Against all odds, she was sitting with him how.

Their dinners arrived and they sat like statues as the plates were set down before of them.  Cora took up her spoon and poked at the dumplings floating in a bowl of broth. It smelled much better than it looked, which was like garbage.

“So... You have your magic back,” she said.  “What have you done with it? Aside from fixing my cafe?”

Loki set to the task of slicing through his own dinner with a knife, pleased to find his steak was perfectly cooked.  “Less than you might imagine. I made a cup of tea this afternoon.”

She laughed.  “I’m beginning to think all of your magic is food-related.”

At that, Loki joined in her laughter with surprising volume.  “No, no. Well, I suppose I could…” He placed his knife and fork to the side and thoughtfully paused.  His eyes moved about the room, circling it and then drifting upward. Cora appeared pensive as she did the same.  She squinted, unsure of where to direct her attention.

The ceiling disappeared.

It dissolved from the center outward, like ripples in a lake.  The old-world wooden beams gave way to a sky full of stars, not the familiar constellations over Seine, but grand nebulas and galaxies that glowed green and electric orange.  Within seconds, there was no ceiling at all, no walls, no shopping district, no mountains in the distance. There was only the gorgeous and terrifying universe hanging inches above their heads.

Cora’s hands clamped down hard on the edge of the table.

“Don’t worry,” said Loki, “You’re quite safe.  In fact, you haven’t left the restaurant.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“It’s only an illusion.  Think of it as being at a planetarium.”

The floor had not vanished, neither had the other tables or patrons, who seemed completely oblivious to what unfolding around them as they floated in the cosmos.  They continued to eat their dinners and casually sip their drinks, though they did so in utter silence. Loki had filtered out the noise. Cora looked in every direction.

“No one else can see it?” she asked.

“No one else,” said Loki.  “Only you and I.”

He listened to the pleasing sound of her drawing a slow, enraptured breath.

“Is this Asgard?” she asked.

“No,” said Loki, and at once, the view changed.  The stars were supplanted by a brilliant morning sky.  Light spread out beneath them, as well, as they appeared to float high above the ground.  The floor of the restaurant remained tactility underfoot, but to the naked eye, they were hundreds of meters in the air, flying over a city that glittered and lush, green gardens.  The royal palace of Asgard grew from a dot no larger than a penny. Closer and closer it drew, majestic and golden, mountain-like, with its peak stretching for the heavens.

Staggered by beauty, it was easy for Loki to forget he had ever found any unhappiness in this place.  Or in his entire life. Cora’s grip on the table refused to relax, but her eyes were wide and bright, at last reflecting something more than the lonely candlelight.  It was nothing less than childlike wonder. Loki could not help but grin. He grinned so much that his cheeks hurt.

“This,” he said, “Was Asgard.  Or my perception of it. This is being constructed from my memory.”

“Now see why you look down on the rest of us,” said Cora.

He chuckled softly and, with reluctance, he released his hold on the illusion and it began to fade.  The ceiling returned and everything went back to the way it had been, as though nothing had happened at all.  Asgard vanished like changing the channel on the television.

But Loki’s vision had blurred and he blinked to clear it.  An errant tear betrayed him, rolling down his cheek. Quickly, he brushed it aside, but there was no hiding it.  “It’s been a long time since I was capable of doing something like that.”

The tablecloth gave an abrupt twitch and Loki realized Cora was still fidgeting with it beneath the table.  His eyes reflexively moved to the spot and she gave a sheepish laugh, murmuring an apology. She loosed her hand and gave it a shake and, to Loki’s utter surprise, stretched it across the table.  Her palm was up, her fingers slightly curved.

Unsure of absolutely everything, he slipped his hand into hers.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, Loki,” she said.  A tremble lingered in her voice, but she was smiling, smiling so very gently.  Yet, it cut through him. It was all pain and sweetness. Everything about her was this way.

“I do miss it,” he said.  “More than I ever thought I would.”

Cora gave his hand a squeeze and let it go, leaving Loki to wonder.

He wondered about everything.

She picked up her spoon and tap it against the side of her bowl.  “I’m not sure how I can eat potato dumplings now.”

Loki laughed in spite of himself.  “You can’t live in a fantasy. Never for as long as you’d like, anyway.”

She poked at the contents of her bowl, shook her head, and at last lifted her spoon to her lips.  Likewise, Loki took the first bite of his steak, which had gone slightly cold, although he was able to remedy it with a glittering wave of his hand.  He had forgotten how hungry he was.

They ate for a few minutes in silence.  Loki finished was remained of his water.  Slowly, he realized that she was once again beginning to look rather pensive.  Her lips grew thin between bites of her dinner. Her eyes absorbed the darkness of the room.

“Loki,” she said abruptly, although really, it was not unexpected at all.  “Last night, you mentioned something about exploring my memories, and then you never explained yourself.  What did you mean?”

He swallowed what was in his mouth.  “I have the ability to enter someone’s mind and, shall we say, explore.”

“So you can read minds?” she asked with the same incredulous inflection as anyone with half their reason intact, but Cora’s deadpan expression suggested that she was becoming more and more difficult for Loki to surprise.

“No, but I can call up memories.  Though, while I do that, I see them for myself, so I suppose the answer is yes, I can read minds.”

“How is it any different from telling you what I remember?”

“Sometimes there are details in the periphery that seem unimportant.”

“But they’re not.”

“Precisely,” said Loki.

A sober hum sounded from her lips, audible even in the din of the restaurant.  “So I suppose you would want to call up memories of when my physiology changed, around the time my daughter was born.”

“Yes.”

“And study what, exactly?”

“I wouldn’t really know until I noticed something worth studying.”

She stirred the contents of her bowl.  “I would need to think about it.”

Loki nodded.  “I understand.”

He did.  If Cora had not been apprehensive about the idea, then Loki would have thought it disconcerting.  The mind was built to be a locked box, all thoughts were meant to be secrets. It would bring pain, deep pain, to dredge up what one preferred to forget.  Had she not mentioned Sophie had been a sickly child? Had not her husband abandoned them shortly thereafter?

Nevermind the fact that Loki could not remember the last time he had used the spell as anything other than an attack, as an invasion.  It had always been a means to exploit an enemy’s weaknesses, dismantling them without a physical wound. To call it reading minds, as Cora had put it, was far, _far_ too nice.

Loki lifted his eyes tentatively from his plate, hot with a flush with guilt that was becoming all too familiar.  He regretted suggesting the option in the first place, because it was inevitable that Cora would come around. She always did.  She was afraid, because she was sane, but she was too hungry for the truth to allow fear to hold her in chains. He was the same way.

Though, perhaps he was not quite so sane.

And of the two of them, Loki wondered if he would not ultimately prove the more hesitant to engage in something so intimate.

 

* * *

 

It was cold by the time they stepped outside, not just chilly but tinged with ice, as though the dark sky which encircled them was somehow also hiding a snowstorm.  Even Loki felt it cut him to the bone. Cora’s stiff fingers struggled to button her coat. She produced a hat and gloves from her pockets. “Winter is coming,” she stated with pronounced formality.

Loki fabricated a hat for himself: a beanie, although he would never call it something so silly.  The threads of green yarn came together between his palms. “Do you have other seasons?” he asked, even though every shop window was decorated with a flickering pumpkin.

“No, that’s a--”  She tugged her hat over her ears, which happened to be an amusing shade of hot pink, both the hat and her ears, thanks to the cold.  “Of course we do. That was a quote from a show called Game of Thrones.”

“I know.”

“Do you watch Game of Thrones?” she asked with the same surprise Loki would have expected had he admitted to watching HGTV marathons. which he also did.

“When you essentially can’t leave your house for a year, you tend to watch a lot of television.  I like Game of Thrones. It makes me feel right at home.”

“Oh dear.  I hope not.”

“No, it doesn’t really.”  Loki pulled his new hat over his head and set to the task of conjuring a set of leather gloves.

Cora watched with unfettered interest.  “As always, you have excellent taste,” she said, as she began to rock back and forth on her heels--an act to stay warm, Loki surmised.

“Of course,” he said.  “I like this, though.” His fingers reached for the top of Cora’s head, fluffing the large, yarny pom-pom at the peak of her hat.  She looked almost ridiculous.

It was charming.

Loki sighed.  A puff of white smoke drifted from his mouth.  Beside them, the waves of the bay rolled gently back and forth.  Neither of them said goodnight.

“So…” sighed Loki,  “Do you have plans for All Hallow’s Eve?  Do the children go door-to-door for candy as they do in the United States?”

“They do,” she said.  “I usually go to a party afterward, at Perla’s.”

“And who is Perla?”

“Perla is a bar.  They have a big Halloween party every year, big for this village, anyway.  Costumes are mandatory or you have to pay cover. It’s really just drinking and dancing and a band, but...”  She shrugged. “You might like it.”

Loki ran his tongue across his teeth.  “I might at that.”

“I’m sure you could _conjure_ a costume.”

His mouth quirked a smile.  “I daresay I could.”

Cora continued to bounce on her heels.  And then, she abruptly stopped and stood very still.  “So… You should come.”

There was a tremor in her voice, as there had been at the table, after he had put the cosmos and Asgard on display.  Her face was tilted toward his, her gaze fixed; had she ever looked at him more directly than she was now? Her eyes themselves seemed an invitation.

How he wanted nothing more than to close what little space existed between them, to enfold that perfect archer’s bow top lip of hers between his own...

To devour her...

“Perhaps I will,” he breathed.

Her eyelids gave a flutter, a spasm, really.  “The both of you.”

Loki’s surroundings spun in a nauseating circle.  “Perhaps _we_ will.”

Cora began to rock forward and backward on her heels again.  It was beginning to look less and less like a means to keep warm and more like a manifestation of trepidation.  A large-scale fidget. And why not?  She out to be nervous in the presence of an unruly Jotun, which was what he was fast becoming.  Loki stuffed down his feelings.  He would feed himself to that hidden monster instead.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said.

Loki lifted his brows high.  “Thank you for what? You forced me to let you pay.”

“Because your money isn’t real.”

“It’s as good as real.  It’s indistinguishable from--”

“Don’t care.”  Cora swiftly turned around, grinning gleefully.  Her wool dress swayed bell-like as she walked in the direction of the dark sky.  And then, she looked back.

She looked back.

What could only be called a jolt raced down Loki’s spine, sudden as lightning, but with a warmth more akin to firelight.  It locked his shoulders and left his hands tingling, as though they had been momentarily denied their proper flow of blood.  He gave them a covert shake. “Then the next time I shall steal Thor’s very real credit card.”

Cora laughed.

He took a step toward her.

But as his foot rolled across the pavement, her eyes flashed with a frigid light.  Loki felt the same jolt as before, though this time there was nothing pleasant about it.  He came to a halt and it was Cora walked back to him, returning to the same distance as before, leaving the same space between them.

She was keeping him in place.

“Are we going to Eidsborg tomorrow?” she asked.

Loki found it necessary to work his jaw before any words came from it.  “I do not know. Was that the plan?”

“I think that was the next one on Thor’s list.”

Thor’s _list._  Had he felt less dazed, Loki may have rolled his eyes.  “I’ll ask him.”

Cora nodded.  She continued to stand in place, planted, not backing up and certainly not stepping forward.  Was there more to say? Loki became aware of the pressure building between his brows, as they knit tighter and tighter.

“What?” she asked.

“What what?”

“You look…”

“Look like what?”

“Angry.”

At once, the tension in Loki’s forehead spread out and dissolved, leaving his mind with an echoing blankness.  He took a step backward, putting more space between them, while Cora continued to stand still, as though she was waiting, but for what?  He hardly knew what to think.

“I’m not angry,” he said, though he was not entirely convinced it was the truth.  Whatever was heating the pit of his stomach, it was beginning to feel more like an irritation.  

Cora hugged her arms and gave them a rub.  “It’s freezing. I should go home before I die.”

Loki caught _himself_ rocking back and forth on his own heels.  “That sounds wise.”

Yes, they would both be wise to part ways.  Even if she gave any indication that she might, possibly, _improbably_ want more from bidding goodnight than… _whatever_ this was.  Standing and nodding at one another?  To that would be the purpose? A few seconds of pleasure and then, goodnight?  If not goodnight, then what?

Oh, Loki knew damn well _then what._ He would put a smile on that cherubic mouth of hers and it would stay in place for once.

But the dare not to think about it.

And besides, the truth was, though it was beginning to hurt reminding himself so often, it was obvious that she did not want him.

Which was fine.  It was undeniably for the best.

“Goodnight, Cora,” he said.

“Goodnight, Loki.”

 

* * *

 

Loki entered an unlit apartment, completely dark except for the light from the television set, by which he could see his brother.  Thor was stretched across the sofa, a limp arm hanging over the side, his face planted in the cushions. He looked as though he was dead.

Loki slammed the door.

With a hollar, Thor leapt to an attack position, teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists.  His eyes spun wildly until they honed in on what had so violently awoken him. “Loki?” he squinted into the shadows.  “What time is it?”

“August the forty-seventh.  The year is two-thousand-eighty-nine.”  But Loki’s acrid tone was a far cry from the what might have been a good-natured ribbing and his tongue tasted as though it had been dipped in bile.  He wanted to spit. Though it had not been his intention to attack his brother right out the gate, his annoyance boiled over the second he laid eyes on Thor in witless repose.

Thor’s brow knit, a sight which became all the more clear as he switched on the lamp beside the sofa, and which also caused him to wince dramatically.  “What time is it _really_?”

“I don’t know.  I waited so long to hear from you that I lost track.”

“I guess I fell asleep.”

“Yes, well, _nap nop_ ,” retorted Loki, harkening back to their nonsensical exchange over text.  The blank Thor drew suggested that he recalled none of it. Loki aggressively hung his coat on the hooks by the door and kicked off his boots.

“Are you upset with me?” asked Thor.

“Why should I be upset with you?  You had very important work to do this afternoon.  I hope you were able to get all of it done.”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I got a little drunk.”

“I suppose that’s why you needed your _nap nop_ ,” he replied in sing-song fashion, bobbing his head from side to side.

Thor’s face snapped up, his perfectly even features contorted like twisted metal.  He reached between the sofa cushions and produced the television remote control, and with the push of a button and staticy fizzling, the screen blinked out.  “Loki, why are you behaving this way? And where have you been?”

“Out.  You told me to stay out.”  And right now, he wanted nothing more: o _ut_ of his solar system, lightyears from this planet; he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Midgard as was inhumanly possible!

“I did not mean all night!”  It was almost an apology, but not truly, not while Thor was growling.

“I took dinner at _Godt Brød_.”  Loki was making his way toward the bathroom, now.  He felt the need to soak, or perhaps take a cold shower.  It had been freezing outside, yet somehow he had managed to work up a sweat.

“You ate by yourself?”  Thor pushed his unwieldy, hungover form to his feet, and this time, he did apologize.  “Loki, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my plan at all.”

“Oh, you had a plan?” Loki snapped back, though he had paused in his escape from the living room.  He faced Thor. He did not, however, feel it necessary to correct his brother’s assumption that he had dined alone.  It would only bring of questions Loki had no desire to answer.

“Yes, my plan was to meet with you for dinner and discuss everything.”

Loki sighed.  “Discuss your relic some more?”

“Well, yes.”  Thor teetered back and forth.  “Is that not why we are here?”

“It’s why _you_ are here.”

Thor reared his head as though he had been slapped.  Loki’s white-hot temper suddenly went cold.

Those who took his brother for the sole hothead of the family knew neither brother very well.  Neither had inherited, by blood or by example, Odin’s otherworldly detachment or Frigga’s quiet dignity.  Loki had once thought, before he knew better, that he might one day embody his mother’s virtue, but when the stakes were high and he and Thor came close to ending one another, it was clear that he was capable of only a passing imitation.

Loki sighed.  After everything Thor had done, he did not deserve this, or at least, he mostly did not.  Loki still felt he had the right to be angry with his brother for behaving like a sot.

“Why are you in such a foul mood?  Did something happen?” He asked with marked trepidation that, after everything with Strange and Ross, could only be expected.

Loki shook his head.  “No, I… I actually had quite the pleasant day.”  It was the evening which had left him feeling so trampled underfoot, which had nothing much to do with his brother, though if Thor had _not_ passed out in a drunken stupor, if they _had_ met for dinner, Loki’s spirits would not likely not have ended up quite so bruised.

“Then are you angry with me because…?”  Thor failed to finish the question. He seemed to be at a total loss.  It was almost pitiable, the way he looked like a confused old dog.

Another sigh loosed itself from the depths of Loki’s lungs.  This was all too familiar. The other morning, had they not sat on the bathroom floor, at a loss for words?  Were they forever doomed to repeat themselves?

“Brother,” said Loki, “I respect your need to think, and drink, by yourself, but I… I am mildly irritated with you.  For forgetting about me. I suppose... I missed you.”

Thor’s shoulders dropped.  He opened his mouth and closed it again.  He did not know what to make of Loki’s admission, that much was clear.  It was almost comical. Loki hardly knew what to make of it himself.

“And I suppose…” began Thor, quite slowly, almost carefully, “It did not occur to me that I might be missed.”

Loki tilted his gaze downward, in the direction of the floor.  He no longer wanted to bite off Thor’s head, but it had suddenly become a challenge to look him in the eyes.  He could not bare two rejections in a single night. The truth was, he had missed Thor for such a long time, for centuries, that Loki had not yet truly learned how to stop.  At times it felt as though he was still pushing Thor away so that he could continue to miss him, because there was safety in familiarity.

But he was not angry anymore.  All of that had melted away.

“I was looking forward to discussing things with you later: the relic and Cora’s problem.”  Though Loki still could not manage to bring up meeting with Cora herself.

“As was I,” said Thor.

Loki lifted his eyes.  “Did you make any headway at all?”

“No.  I drank until I went numb instead.”  With a sigh, Thor returned to the sofa.  “I’m starting to wonder if you might be right.  Maybe it does not exist.” Thor lowered himself to the cushions with a grunt.  He scratched the jawline of his beard. “I... wanted something I could bring back.”

Oh, his heart broke to hear that.  “To New Asgard?”

“It is our only hope of salvaging part of _Old_ Asgard.”

Loki crossed the room and sat beside his brother.  “That’s not true. My pockets are full of relics.” He watched Thor tilt his head in silent and somewhat begrudging acquiescence, but there was a hint of a smile there, as well.  Loki pressed on. “And there is always the chance we will find that stuffed dog I lost here when I was a boy.”

Thor’s eyes went wide.  “You remember that?”

“I cried for weeks.  Of course, I remember.  It was the first true trauma of my life.”  Loki finished with a laugh. He pushed an elbow into Thor’s ribs.  “We have a few days. Tomorrow we’re going to Eidsborg, yes?”

Thor looked rather stunned that Loki knew it by name.  He nodded slowly.

“We’ll figure it out.  And we can probably solve Cora’s mystery, too.  If we can both manage not to pass out from drunkenness from here on.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Thor.

Loki dropped a hand on his brother’s massive shoulder.  It felt as though they had switched places. For such a long time, it had been Loki who, without his powers, had felt like a sunken vessel, but really, perhaps this was the proper order of their world.  Thor was so easily overtaken by emotion. He needed someone to remind him that there was more than one way to attack a problem. Loki had always been gifted in that regard.

At last, Thor smiled.  And it made Loki happy.  It reminded him that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Come, Brother,” said Loki.  “Turn the television back on.  They get HGTV here in Norway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now, you've probably seen Endgame. Obviously, this is not compliant. I always suspected it would go from semi-AU to completely AU, and now it has. I hope that still works for everyone. I love my readers so much. Please feel free to hit me up on Tumblr [@mareebird](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/)


	19. Si Navnet Mitt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate forces Loki's hand, and the brothers attempt to bond before reaching a new variety of impasse.

It was a murky black sky that met Thor’s eyes as they drifted open, as though the outside had leaked through the window, so dark that he believed it to be the middle of the night.  In the past forty-eight hours, he had been to New York and back, and he could not determine with immediate certainty the location of the ceiling above his head.

But rolling onto his side revealed Loki’s lanky form in the opposite bed and slowly the rest of the room came into focus, as well.  The digital clock read **4:50** , which _was_ the middle of the night by some standards.  It surely felt that way. He had set the alarm for **5:00** , which meant that some devil at work had deprived him of ten extra minutes of sleep.  Thor considered it a personal attack.

With a groan, he threw an arm over his eyes and questioned the intelligence of watching television until well past midnight.  They were bound for distant Iddesborg today and Cora was set to arrive at half-past the hour. But if he and Loki had ever bonded easily over any facet of Midgardian culture, it was House Hunters, and turning it off, even while hungover and exhausted, was for quitters.

He had no regrets.  Neither of them had laughed so raucously for some time.  Not together. Thor’s sides ached. He would not wish it away for anything.

Loki had to be near waking, judging by the muffled commentary into his pillow.  Thor peeked out from beneath his arm. By the clock, there two minutes to spare before the buzzing commenced, but hearing it would only be a mockery at this point, so he flipped a switch and canceled the alarm.  With a grunt, he forced himself out of bed. Loki’s muttering spiked.

Thor needed coffee.  He would not last until Cora arrived with her usual offering for the road.  He would just have to call that his second cup when she brought it to the door.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.  The hangover was not quite gone. “Loki?  Loki, did you want coffee or are you off it already?”  His brother had not taken it yesterday morning, but there was no harm in asking.

Loki twisted his blanket between his fingers.  “Come here,” he said, though barely intelligible with his face buried in the pillow.

“What for?”

“I want to show you something,” came Loki’s reply.

Thor lifted an eyebrow.  “Show me what?” he asked, but only silence came this time.  “Show me what, Loki?”

He dumbly awaited an answer for a few seconds longer, but it seemed Loki had drifted back to sleep, which they really could not afford on the schedule they were trying to keep.

Thor gave him a pat on the calf as he passed by.  “Time to get up,”

Loki sputtered back to life, rocking from side to side on his belly.  “You have to come here. You have to come closer.” He pulled his hand out from beneath his pillow and attempted something like a beckoning wave.

Was this a joke, wondered Thor.  It had the cadence of a joke.

“What is it, Loki?” he asked, and once again he was given no reply.  His brother had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. Blasting a small puff of air through his nose, Thor turned to leave for the second time.

He did not make it far.  Loki made an odd, nearly disturbing sound which could only be described as a whimper.  “Come back,” he… pleaded? The hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stood up

"What?” He turned and saw Loki tracing his fingertips along the side of the bed, and he outdid his whimper with a moan from deep within his throat.  Thor clenched his teeth.

And that was the moment when Loki said what sounded just like a name, a name which did not belong to either of them.

Thor straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders and holding them stiffly.  He mouthed what he had just heard, or thought he heard. Already, he was doubting his own ears.

He inched closer to Loki’s bed on tip-toe.

Loki sighed.  “What do you want me to do?” he seemed to say, but his mouth was flush against the pillow.  How could he breathe like that, Thor wondered. How had he not suffocated himself either awake or back to sleep?

Thor’s face had begun to ache from holding every muscle so tensely.  His own lungs felt on the verge of decay.

Loki dug his fingers into the stuffing of his pillow.  “Kiss me... Please.”

_Gods…_

Loki’s words skated on the width of a knife.  They were wanton in their plaintiveness, dripping with longing.  Thor had never thought his brother capable of such sounds. But the _name_ , that was the most scarcely believable word of them all.  Thor dared to lean in closer. He wanted confirmation. Would his brother utter it a second time?

“Again.   _Please_...”  Loki abruptly rolled onto his back and Thor’s entire body spasmed, a warning to extradite himself immediately from his brother’s bedside, but he only succeeded in locking his knees.  Just a few seconds longer. One last chance to hear that name again. And then, he would go.

But a mere second of hesitation proved the end of it all.  Loki threw his arm forward, touched the side of Thor’s shoulder and, like a bubble, whatever was unfolding behind his eyelids burst.  They snapped open, wild and alert and dilated.

“Thor!  Shit! What are you doing?”

“What am _I_ doing?  What are _you_ doing?” he sputtered back, acutely aware of having no defense.

Loki rocketed forward, yanking his knees close to his chest and clutching them there like they were some sort of shield.  His heart pounded through the front of his shirt. “You goat’s ass!” he growled.

Thor raked through his hair, clutching at strands which still had not grown back, and his hand fell limply to his side.  “...Do you want any coffee?” he asked dumbly.

“Have you lost your mind?  Get out!”

Foregoing to utter another syllable, Thor turned on his heels.  He all but jumped out of the room, pulling the door behind him and coming to a rigid halt on the other side.  He pulled air deep into his lungs. Already, he could hear Loki pacing back and forth.

Thor quickly padded away from the door and into the kitchen, with his balance swaying and the floor tilting underfoot.  He took up station at the counter, pressing his hands against it and, after staring blankly at the wall, realized he had completely forgotten what he had set out to do there in the first place.  His eyes had honed in on the rosy Juniper Cheer bottle on the window sill, the one which Loki had accidentally rescued from Asgard. Thor stared until it became nothing but a pink blur.

Coffee.  Right.

Thor went through the motions of scooping grinds into the basket.  His skull felt as though it was soaring through the Bifrost, abandoning his body beneath him, and he realized that, on some level, he was afraid.  The merriment of last night seemed to be slipping through his fingers like coffee through the filter, nothing but a stained memory.

Thor hissed at himself.  He never should have turned at the sound of that name.   Or maybe he had never heard the name in the first place. Maybe he had only wanted to hear it.

The bedroom door squeaked open.  Thor’s eyes shifted far to the corner, trying to see over his shoulder without turning until the false eye rebelled and gave his socket a shock.  His palm flew to his temple. “Hel…”

Loki walked to the cabinet and pulled down the box of muesli to which he had become so attached.  In silence, he poured the cereal into a bowl.  He added milk. He found himself a spoon and carried it all to the kitchen table.

A beat passed and Thor came back to life, throwing his hand into the cabinet of coffee mugs, grabbing one at random and causing everything to clatter.  He wagered a glance back at Loki, who had lifted face from his bowl with an unamused stare.

Thor kept station by the coffee pot until the cycle was complete.  He filled his mug and brought it to the table, wishing for a brief second that there was somewhere else he could go.  It felt like everything around him was made of glass: the chair beneath his weight, the table between them, the floor, the walls.  He and Loki most of all. Everything seemed fragile and precariously balanced.

He slurped at the coffee.  Loki wrinkled his nose.

“You’re drinking it black now?”

“What?” said Thor, followed by immediate sputtering as he realized he had forgotten to add milk.  He rose to fetch the carton, bringing it back to the table, where he added it to his mug until the liquid inside was the right shade of tawny brown.

Loki kept his eyes on his muesli.  There were purple circles hanging beneath them.   Thor imagined that he looked much the same, if not worse.  His skin felt clammy from his forehead to his bare feet. He was weary to the heart.

“Brother, I’m sorry--”

But the words barely left Thor’s mouth before Loki snapped up from his bowl.  “You apologize too much these days. I honestly have no desire to talk about this.”

“...All right.”  Thor turned to the side, focusing his gaze through the window.  The sun would not be up for hours and it still felt as though it was the middle of the night.  “I did think you were trying to speak to me, though. That is why I drew so close.”

Loki folded his lips and brushed a hand through the air, as though he was waving aside Thor’s words.  His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked as though he could barely chew, let alone speak.

Thor’s stomach sank.  It always came back to this: one step forward, one step back, never truly mending the damage that they wrought on one another.  They dismantled one brick in the wall only to mortar it back into place.

Heat began to spread across Thor's face.  He wanted so much to take a hammer to that wall, but the spray of rubble would only strike Loki on the other side.  There were times when he wished it would; if he was being honest, Loki still found ways of frustrating him to the point of balling his fists.  Why could they be be friends when he was the one in need, but Loki was forever determined to be an island? Thor could only blame himself for so much.  His brother sorely reminded him of their father right now, but he knew it would be suicide to say so.

But Thor's fists were not balled.  He lifted his open palms to his face and scrubbed hard against his face, and lowering his hands, he saw Loki had paused in bringing the spoon to his mouth.  It hovered there, as he moved his impossibly stiff jaw from side to side. “Brothers talk about things.”

With a mocking hum, Loki pushed the spoon between his lips and swallowed.  His brows lifted high toward his hairline.

Thor shook his head.  “But what do I know.”

With ferocity, Loki once again swooped the spoon into the belly of his bowl, scraping off the oats and bits of fruit pasted on the ceramic.  His eyes closed as he consumed the last bite and, after a chilly pause, he released a ragged breath that sounded as if it had been locked inside since Thor joined him at the table.

“Was I really talking in my sleep?” he asked.  His voice was thin as a thread, but direct.

Thor hesitated to nod.  “A little.”

“What about?”

“About…"  It came as no surprise that Thor could not easily find the words to describe the moaning and requests for kisses.  It felt like he was sidling along a precipice. “About…”

Bearing his teeth, Loki pitched the spoon into his bowl.  “Fantastic.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Thor.  He did not know what else to say.

Loki tucked his hands into his armpits, pinning his arms to his chest.  “I said her name. _That’s_ why you were leering over me like that.”

“You said something that sounded like her name,” replied Thor, his booming voice increasingly more like a child on tip-toe.  “But yes.”

“Norns…”  Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and he rolled his shoulders as though his back was giving him an insufferable itch.  “It was just a dream. I can’t be held responsible for what my brain fabricates while I’m asleep.”

“That is true.”  Thor sipped at his coffee.  The brain, of course, tended to build composites from what one’s mind focused on while awake.  He could not help but think it; he knew far better than dare to say it.

With a rough nod, Loki picked up his spoon again, even though there was nothing left in the bowl.  The metal _ting’d_ against the heavy ceramic.  “I can’t be held accountable for an erotic dream,” he muttered.

Thor coughed, too loudly for it to be real.

“Oh, what?” growled Loki.

“We’re using words like erotic, now?”

“Grow up.”

But Thor had already lost the battle, as his laughter shot to the surface like a bottle rocket.  He tried his damnedest to fight back--really, he did--but then he saw the corner of Loki’s mouth almost turn up.   _Almost._  And _almost_ was the relief he desperately needed.

“But Loki, why do I need to grow up?  Why can’t we laugh?”

“Because none of this is funny.”

Thor coughed again to clear his throat as the outburst subsided.  If it was not funny, then what? It was awkward, to be certain, but did that not add to the levity of it all?  His brother had called out a name in his sleep. Could not he be anything other than miserable about it?

“I know it isn’t funny, but--”

“Then I wish you would stop teasing me.”  Loki’s eyes had gone wide and round as the moon, but the light they flashed was more like fire.

Thor shook his head.  “I’m not. I’m not teasing you.”

“Right.”  Loki stood, snatching his bowl and carrying it to the sink.  “Then what would you call it?”

“I would call it trying to connect with you,” Thor all but snapped.  “About this. About _anything_.”  He was pained by this rift, too.  Could his brother not see it?

Loki spun around.  There was fire in his eyes, fire and daggers.  Thor was fairly certain he could see his brother’s pulse disrupting the fabric of his shirt even from across the room, and he felt his own heart sink.  If Loki was going to keep lying about forgiving him for his past slights, real though they assuredly were, then he wished to Helheim that his brother would at least stop pretending to like him, as well.

“Loki…  I would think that, after everything you and I have been through in the past year, in the past few days, you would trust that I want you to be happy.  I am not mocking you. Not at all. But I worry you may be on the verge of mocking yourself.”  Thor pressed his hand against his own chest. “If you have feelings for Cora, I think that’s wonderful.”

The name.  Cora.

Loki's eyelids fluttered.  For all the universe, he looked as if Thor had expressed a sentiment far more bizarre, something impossible to process, a collection of nonsense.  Thor knew not what more he could say. He had already pressed more than he ought to risk. It always came back to this: an impasse. They were not brothers, they were merely chained to one another, and they still had centuries left in their bones.

He drained what was left in his coffee mug.

But slowly, so slowly that it was all but undetectable, Loki’s shoulders began to drop.  He worked his jaw, pressing it forward and locking it in that way he did when he wanted to be angry, but was losing the wind in his sails.  Thor’s stomach gave a swift twist.

“I…”  Loki shrugged.  “I _do_ like Cora.  Yes. I like her.  I find her very attractive.”

Thor lowered his mug and met his brother’s eye.  Loki still looked as though both of them were spouting nonsense words.  There were chaotic winds behind his eyes.

Thor kept an even tone.  “She is. She’s very pretty.”

Loki took a deep breath.  “She’s charming, she’s generous.  She took care of me when I was ill.  And she’s… impish. Wicked, really. Smart as a cutlass…”

He stepped forward and pressed his hands against the island in the center of the kitchen.  His elbows locked, as though he was bracing himself, which clearly he was.

But he was also beginning to smile.  “And she’s endlessly patient with me.  That’s an incredibly attractive quality.”

“I’m sure.”

“She laughs at my jokes.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Loki rocked forward on his elbows, as though he had momentarily lost his balance.  His eyes flashed again and he rolled his bottom lip against the sharp edge of his teeth.  “ _Hot_ ,” he breathed.  “She’s _hot._ ”

At that, Thor’s face dropped so suddenly that he could feel the muscles twinge as they released.  He cleared his throat. “Wow.”

Loki tilted his head with a devilish grin.  “Well, you wanted me to be honest.”

Thor scratched the corner of his beard.  “I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s what they say here, right?  Hot?” Loki squinted. “You know. Erm… Sexy?”

“I’ve heard both of those terms,” said Thor, though he had never expected his brother to have picked up on them, or have need of them.  But then again, Loki was flesh and blood, was he not? He was not an island. He was certainly not their father. Thor pointed to the chair across from him.  “Sit down. Tell me more.”

Loki held up a finger.  He laughed. His cheeks had flushed red.  “Ehm... I need a minute.”

Thor’s knotted his brow, and then he realized.  Flesh and blood indeed. “Oh. That’s fine.” He reached for his mug and took a drink, only to be reminded that he had already finished his coffee.

Pulling a breath through his nose, Loki pushed away countertop.  He circled around and returned to the table, where he fell heavily back into his seat.  “But Thor, you must understand, none of this matters. I don’t intend to do a thing about it.  You have to promise that you won’t meddle or attempt to convey any of this to her.”

“Why don’t you want to do anything about it?”

“What would be the point?”

“I think you know.”

Loki shook his head.  “For one, it's very clear that she does not think much of me.  That coupled with the chance she may be human...”

“Are you so certain?  That she does not think much of you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Why?  Have you said anything to her about this yourself?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you think so?  Or think it not possible, I mean?”  Already Thor felt like he was spinning in circles.

“Because I…”  Loki rested his hands on the table and began staring into them.  “She and I had a rather perfect opportunity to, well, for _something_ to have happened, and she did not take me up on it.”

“Then you _did_ say something?”

“No.  There was an opportune moment, that is all, and nothing came of it.”

“I don’t understand.”  Truly, Thor did not. “When was this?”

“Last night.”

“You were with me last night.”

“No, before that.  We had dinner together.”

Thor’s eyes almost crossed with this new information, or seemingly lack thereof.  For a good several seconds, he said nothing. The pause stretched until it nearly broke.  “You left that part out on purpose, I think.”

“I could be leaving out all of this.  Try to keep up.”

Thor fired off glare.  “I _am_.  You tell me you went to dinner, you had an opportunity of some sort, and nothing happened…  When was this opportunity?”

“ _After_ dinner.”

Now his brother was just being difficult, Thor was certain of that much.  “And what happened? Or did not happen?”

“She very easily could have…”  Loki frowned, and at last, his quick responses came to grinding halt.  The light in his eyes was overtaken by shadow. “She made it clear that she wanted to part ways after the meal.  That’s all.”

“Oh.”  Thor pulled back his head, which had jutted forward during their back and forth.  “I hope she was at least gentle about it.”

“It’s beside the point.  I was weak, but only for a moment.  My mind really is made up. I am going to leave this planet, once we are done, and that will be the end of Midgard for me.”

A flush of blood curled around Thor’s ears.  He did not particularly like the tone of Loki’s pronouncement, but he could not say it was without reason.  Even he had hardly any purpose to stay, by this point. When they found the relic, it was possible he might be finished with Midgard, as well.  Slowly, he nodded. Sadly, he nodded.

“And even a short time with Cora, while we are here, that holds no interest for you?”

Loki gave a quick shaking of his head.

Thor frowned.  Deeply. “You are certain she feels the same disinterest?”

“I think, at best, she has some vague _scientific_ interest in me,” Loki replied, punctuating it with a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but only came off an anemic.  “Besides, she would be a fool to ignore everything I’ve done to her.”

Thor’s fingers had wandered to the side of his head, attempting to run through hair that was far too short to do anything with at all.  At best, all he could do was scratch at his temple. “It’s just that... you just went on about how she’s been patient with you and… laughing at your jokes.”  He watched Loki give a little shrug. “And there have been times when I thought she might be flirting with you.”

To that, Loki gave a more aggressive shrug.  “I’m not like you, Thor.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean that you disagree with how I ought to act.  You think I’m losing something by not pursuing Cora.  I don’t see it that way at all.”

Thor blinked a few times.  He thought, for a moment, that his brother was about the mention Jane Foster, but it appeared he was wrong.  To not be like him, to not be the sort to form an attachment, let alone to a human...  Thor was unsure if he believed any of what Loki claimed, although maybe that was the point Loki was trying to make.  Either way, he did not comment.

Loki went on.  “It would add needless complication to leaving Midgard.  At best, what would I gain? Brief sexual satisfaction? At worst, I would end up heartsick, and that’s just a miserable state.”

Thor winced.  “I don’t agree that those are the only two possibilities.”

Loki rose from his chair.  “That’s because you are you and I am me.  I like her very much, but--”

“And what of her vision?” Thor protested.  “Or have you changed your mind about that already?  What if leaving Cora behind will not be as easy as you think.”

His brother went back to clenching his teeth, to clenching his entire face, in fact.  A clear warning to stand down, like a cat pulling back his ears.

But Thor had more to say before he put the matter to rest.  Or maybe he was a glutton for punishment. “Loki, you are right in that I shouldn’t tell you to go about this as I would, but I was once in a very similar position and I can say you, with absolute certainty, you are overlooking the possibility that--”

With all the surprise of unexpected cannon fire, there came a knock at the door.  Thor’s eyes flew to the clock on the wall. It must have been Cora, slightly behind schedule, as usual.  He and Loki simultaneously looked down at their pajamas. They were not dressed. They had not showered.

And then, in a flash of green light, all of that was taken care of.

“Thank you,” said Thor, grateful that his brother had not taken the _opportune moment_ to clothe him in velvet and suede, which seemed a very real threat the longer he considered it.

“Don’t mention it.”

Thor took long strides across the room.  He lifted his hand to the doorknob and paused.  What was… What was he _smelling?_  He gave the collar of his shirt a sniff.  “Did you put cologne on me?”

“Well, I had to do something,” said Loki, stepping into position behind him.

Thor rolled his eyes.  He opened the door to the still-dark morning.  As expected, Cora stood on the other side, bundled up in layers and a ridiculous pink hat with a pom-pom like a cherry on top.  She looked like a misplaced yuletide caroler. Thor felt as though he had been given new eyes. This silly-looking woman sent his little brother’s heart pounding.

How damnably sweet it all was.  And jarring.  Loki, of all people.  

He had always enjoyed Cora’s company, her intelligence, her pragmatic nature, her biting sense of humor…  Actually, for the first time, Thor wondered if she had not always reminded him just a little of Loki. And he would have been blind not to think her attractive, though in some ways she was fairly plain.  She did not hold a candle to, say, Jane’s uncommon beauty. No, not in his esteem, though he did not much want to think about Jane at the moment.

Thor liked Cora very much, but it was always there that his thoughts had ended.

There were two thermoses gathered in her hands.  Coffee scented steam leaked from their spouts. They joined her on the porch.  Loki passed Thor a red knit hat and he turned around to catch his brother straightening a smart, peacock feather-patterned scarf around his neck.

Thor could not help but smile.

But Loki’s tone was rather dull as he bid Cora good morning and Thor was reminded that their evening had ended on a sour note.  Furthermore, he understood now why Loki had entered the apartment in such a terrible mood after dinner, prepared to bite off Thor’s head.

She held a thermos out to Thor, which he accepted gratefully.  Already, he needed a second dose.

Loki tilted his head as he stepped out onto the porch.  “What, none for me?”

“You didn’t want any yesterday,” she said.

“It’s still nice to be offered.”  He brushed by the both of them, pointed toward the staircase, leaving room for a cold wind to fill the space he left behind.  Thor watched Cora’s brows knit with what he nearly labeled confusion. It took him a second to recognize it as concern.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

 _No,_ Thor wanted to say.  The word raced across his tongue and he clenched his teeth to keep it inside.  Cora’s eyes lingered on him, waiting. In spite of Loki’s claims about science and interest, she cared.  Thor wondered how deeply. He gave himself permission to shrug. “I never know.”

He followed his brother down to the street, and Cora followed Thor.  She did not ask any further questions.

They piled into the car, as usual with Thor taking up the entirety of the rear seat.  Loki was not as silent as he might have been throughout the drive, which was their longest yet.  In fact, towards the end of the ride, Loki was asking so many questions about the villages and architecture they passed that it seemed as though nothing was amiss whatsoever.

Thor knew better.  Even if Loki had not opened up with regard to Cora, he would have recognized the pressure to speak, to say so much about nothing of consequence, as borne of anxiety.  Call it a family trait. His brother’s shoulders were high beside his ears and Thor’s own felt as though they were burning, and he very much doubted that either Loki or Cora were devoting their hearts, or even much of their minds, to commentary on agrotourism.

They arrived in Iddesborg as the sky was shifting from ebony to something more marine in color.  As usual, they parked along the path, only this time Loki was able to render their car invisible with a spell.

Cora beamed in amazement.  Loki halfway ignored it. And Thor came to the conclusion that his brother was, quite possibly, an idiot.

The stave was the smallest they had yet visited, and Cora, as per usual, had given them the historical rundown along the way.  The Church was named for Saint Nicholas of Myra, an early Christian bishop of Asia Minor, or modern-day Turkey. Today he was better known as the inspiration behind Father Christmas.  From then on, they would refer to it as _T_ _he Santa Claus Church._

Unlike Haddel and Torgrun, Thor had never been to this site before.  The structure was small in size, like a doll’s house in comparison to the grandeur of the larger staves, and once Loki granted them passage inside, the interior itself was what one would call _tight_ : a single level, narrow pews, no choir, and a simple boxy altar behind a cage.

Saint Nicholas had also long been the patron of sailors, and the ancient decorations on the walls were of a common maritime theme.  Cora turned on the electric lighting and Loki was immediately entranced by a meticulous network of carved fish on a wooden screen and spent several minutes running his fingers along the shapes.  It had become typical for him to greet the churches this way, with a tactile introduction to the artwork.

It tugged at Thor's heart each time he did it, though he really could not say why.  It was a childlike interest he took, an echo of who his little brother had once been--the way Thor would always think of him.

Thor craned his neck to take in the dimensions of the pointed ceiling, turning in a slow circle.  Cora passed by en route to the front of the church and they exchanged a glance. Like Haddel, the site was still used for worship services, but only on rare occasions.  Cora called them Holy Days. There was dust in the air and a musty odor that filled Thor's nostrils.

"This place feels more abandoned than the others," he said, his voice flattened by the confines of the walls.  "Why is that?"

Cora had been examining a framed painting of some religious figure and she looked over her shoulder.  "If you're in Norway to sightsee then there are more impressive sights to see, I guess. This is more of a chapel, really.  The Fortidsminneforeningen doesn't have the funding to keep every stave open on a daily basis. It’s a Christmas and Easter church.”  She paused and gave a light chuckle. “Like most Christians, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed on a spot behind Thor, and he turned and saw that Loki was still tracing the fish shapes.  It was going on a bit longer than usual.

She pressed her lips together before returning to the painting.

Thor fell into his own routine for examining the woodwork.  He studied the beams first, the knots in the pine, where runes could easily disguise themselves.  Unlike his brother, he kept his hands at his sides, often in his pockets, and let his eyes do the searching.  The false one was especially good at tracing the grain of the wood, even in dim light.

He occasionally caught sight of Cora making her way around the altar, scanning the wood and the floors and the tapestries.  Of the three of them, she always moved with the most speed from place to place. Her eyes had been trained in a different manner, trained quite literally, through schooling and her employment at the University Museum at Trondheim.  He and Loki knew the runic languages of Asgard, but Cora had was a student of Midgard, and she knew her people and their art, even if it seemed unlikely that she was one of them.

With a sigh of dissatisfaction, she abandoned the altar and moved toward the rear of the church, where Loki was still pouring over the fish.  Obsessing, really. It was bordering on strange, by this point.

It was not long before Thor began picking up on their muffled voices.

“Found something interesting?” Cora inquired, as though Loki was contributing more to their search than he actually was.  Whatever his brother said in reply was too difficult to hear, though it was guttural and, Thor thought, tinged with unkindness.  The higher timbre of Cora’s voice was easier to discern.

"Is everything all right, Loki?” she asked

Thor chanced a look over his shoulder.  Through a space between a set of narrow, twisting pillars, he could just make out a sliver of Cora and the corner of Loki's shoulder.  Her arms were folded. Her face was turned toward him, but there was a weight upon her features, as there had been all morning.

After a noticeable pause, Loki’s acrid reply carried with far better clarity.  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Thor inwardly groaned.

“Because it’s obvious that it isn’t,” pressed Cora, hardly missing a beat, which Thor silently cheered--though it forced him to admit that he was eavesdropping on his brother all over again, a mistake he could not afford to make twice.  He looked down at the floor and told his feet to walk away, which they did. He crossed to the other to the pews on the other side church.

Unfortunately, he could still hear them.

“Did I do something?” asked Cora.

“No,” said Loki, and Thor winced, but then, was there a sigh, or something like a sigh, and Loki continued.  “I did not sleep well. That is all. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, as they say.”

It was not exactly a lie, in Thor’s opinion, though he did not have the impulse to silently cheer his brother in the same manner.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Cora.

“I thank you...”  Already, there was a noticeable shift in Loki’s tone, a sweetness of sorts.  A warmth. Thor wondered if he knew how well their voices could carry in the echoless stave.  Ought he cover his ears? What more could he do? “...For your concern.”

He heard Cora breathe a true sigh.  "You've been studying this screen for quite a while.  Any reason for that?"

"Possibly," said Loki.  "I don't know. There are a few oddities."

"Oddities?"

"Well…”

Thor turned his head with a new variety of interest.  Surely it was permissible to eavesdrop, now.

He listened to Loki’s light footfalls skirt across the floor and Cora’s heavy boots follow.  “If you look here,” said Loki. “You’ll notice this… And see that curve? And yet, when you stand here.  See? Look at that?”

Thor began to hastily sidle out of the pews and toward the center aisle, all but tripping over his own feet.

“It disappears?” said Cora.  “Am I seeing that right?”

“I don’t know about right or wrong, but I’m seeing it, too,” said Loki.

Thor spotted them in the nave, facing the screen with their backs to him.  Loki lifted his hand and traced a section of the lattice network of sea creatures.  Cora stood just in front of him, partially obscured by his much larger form.

“But why would that happen?” she asked.

“It could be a metaphysical anomaly,” said Loki.  “But if it’s a doorway, I can’t find the knob.”

Thor ran down the aisle.  “What anomaly? What did you find?”

Loki glanced back.  “Nothing yet.”

“But you’re onto something?”

“I’m onto a curious optical illusion.”  As Loki turned back, a shimmer of light built up in the center of his palm.  It sputtered like a flickering lamp and died. “No. That’s not it.”

“Not what?” asked Thor.

“Not the way in,” he said.  “ _If_ there’s a way in.”  He moved his hand to another section of the screen and the light returned, like a worker and his oil lamp.

“You think you’ve found it?”

Loki gave a warning hiss.  “This isn’t easy like picking locks made of iron.  There’s a code. I need to break the code. And, mind you, it’s centuries old.”

“But there’s nothing on the other side but air,” said Cora.  “It’s just a screen.”

Loki shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter. A magical doorway isn’t something physical, it’s--”

The light in the crevasse of Loki’s palm suddenly tripled in size.  It bloomed and burst not unlike an explosion. Thor even thought he heard a sound like shattering glass.  The wood screen wobbled and tipped forward, and Loki along with it. Thor could not say he saw anything like a portal opening or even so much as a fracture in the screen.

What he did see was Loki fold in on himself, narrowing to a sliver as he tumbled into the marine life latticework, and Cora beneath him as his body struck hers.

In less time than it took to draw a gasp, both of them were gone.

And the wooden screen fell to the floor with a deafening clatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big warm hug to everyone who has been with me since the beginning.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can. I love chatting Loki and Thor. Also, please check me out on [Tumblr @mareebird](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard).


	20. Grav

Down went Cora, rolling straight through what at first seemed like a rabbit hole but, once the ground disappeared, became something more like a well.  And either the well was very deep or she was falling in slow motion, because she seemed to have plenty of time for her life to flash before her eyes. In the dark freefall, it was impossible to make out anything else, such as when she might strike hard rock or whatever lay at the bottom.  It was, however, incredibly noisy with the air rushing past her ears. Or, her ears rushing through the air.

For all her near-death experiences, and the ways she had tested her longevity once upon a darker time, Cora could not agree that facing the possibility of annihilation ever became any easier.  Death was death, and to fear it was, in her well-formed opinion, to be sane.

The falling could not go on indefinitely.

In a few seconds, would she be violently ripped from existence?  Would that be the end of it all? Were there loving arms on the other side or would the universe simply disappear in a flash of pain and white light?  Some of the questions were familiar by now, but even so, she had no answers. In her heart there was a kernel of hope that she might one day see her daughter beyond the veil of the physical world, but there was more than enough doubt in her brain to snuff it out, rendering her blank slate.  All that remained was fear.

The odds had never been in her favor for either outcome.  For her, it had always been the extraordinary third option, what for mortal creatures was an impossibility: surviving the unsurvivable.

So Cora surmised that she would land hard, experience all the pain fatal injury had to offer, but none of the benefits. And _yikes!_ She hoped she would land soon, or her thoughts might actually take a morbid turn.

Where was Loki?  She could faintly hear something like his voice beyond roaring air, like a fisherman shouting during a storm at sea.  But if he was attempting to give orders, Cora could not make out a word. He had to be somewhere above her, unless the density of his alien composition had increased his terminal velocity -- though they were not in a vacuum, so that was an impossibility.  Was that right? Physics was not her field.

So he would land right after her, likely on top of her.  Cora amended her expectations: she would land, and that would hurt, and then Loki, with the density of osmium, would land on top of her, and that would hurt, too, probably more than the first landing in and of itself.  Maybe when she hit the ground, as long as nothing was too broken, she ought to immediately start rolling. He might just miss her.

Her bones could break; they would reset themselves, but the pain would be the same.  This was not her first fall from a great height. Though… She had never fallen so far and so hard that her body simply exploded.

Her thoughts were veering toward morbid, now.  Could Loki survive a fall like this, Cora wondered; he was still mortal.  What if she survived and he did not? What if rolling out of the way only meant being splattered in his blood seconds later?  Or what if there was no bottom at all? It seemed as though she had already plummeted for kilometers. Surely a well as deep as this could not physically exist!

So where was she?

Cora squeezed her eyes shut, not that it mattered; everything was black as night.  She thought about her daughter, in case it did turn out to be the last thought she ever had.

Soon, she struck the ground.

Only what the ground felt like was sponge cake.

Cora felt the pliant texture of whatever lay beneath her give way as it absorbed the ferocity of her landing.  Two arms threw themselves around her chest, locking into place like a parachute harness, and she realized she was still falling.  This time, however, the journey was short, like bouncing off a trampoline to the floor below. The impact had been dampened, and although she shook as helplessly as a leaf in the wind, the pain did not come.

Her gasp for air came with something like a bat screech.

"Are you all right?"  A voice rose from out of the pitch black: Loki's unmistakable voice.  He unclasped his hands from around her and, the next thing Cora knew, a light germinated in the center of the...wherever they were.  By it, she saw Loki pushing himself up from the ground, with a bright orb in his palm like a glowing crystal ball. The other hand he used to forcefully turn her face to his.

He was not covered in blood.  He did not appear to have a scratch on him.  Never had Loki’s face looked so fine, wild-eyed though he was and panting for breath, as if he had just run for kilometers.  Cora thrust her hand up and all but slapped him on the cheek, unconvinced it was not a specter that loomed over her body. The orb he held was like glowing ice, like no lamp she had ever seen.  It was alien and unreal, and it made everything look just a little supernatural, but if he was a ghost then, then let him haunt her for a while. Just like this, above her. He was the most dashing ghost she could ever hope to have seen.

Loki stopped her wrist and pushed her hand back to the floor, pinning it there.  Cora stared back, thrilled and breathless, as it slowly settled in that he did not want anything blocking her face, that he was trying to get a look at her.  She could feel herself smiling like an idiot, as happy to see him as a child on Christmas morning.

“Are you _hurt_?” he asked again.  Cora had not answered the first time and now his tone had bite.  Even his teeth were bared.

Cora’s fractured perception began piecing itself back together.  She flushed at the thoughts which had raced like untamed beasts through her mind and took a conscious breath, making sure that she still could, and only then did she nod.  “I’m okay.”

She was, however, in a state close to shock.  She only knew enough to realize that she was not in pain.  Everything else was questions. How had he caught up to her as they fell?  What was it that broke their fall just before landing? And, for good measure, just where the hell were they?

The ground beneath them was indeed hard, made of what looked at first like ordinary rock, but as her eyes adjusted, Cora saw that it was actually crude decorative tile.  Her fingers came up with a coating of soot from likely centuries of disuse.

Loki took her by the elbow and pulled her off the floor.  The tip of Cora’s nose grazed the orb, proving it was comprised of some kind of solid matter, but it gave off no heat, nor did the ethereal light burn her eyes as she came close.

They were both sitting, now.  It was hot, wherever they were.  Loki pulled the peacock-patterned scarf from his neck and it vanished, then he did the same with his coat.  Cora watched him until he noticed she was staring.

“What?”

“Can you fly?” she blurted unceremoniously.

Loki’s face, which up till now had been stoney and pale, contorted as though she had expressed something absurd.  “What? No.”

“Then how did you catch up to me?  How did you grab me in mid-air?”

At that, he smirked.  Lifting a finger into the air, he drew a few circles, and Cora immediately recalled their exchange in the car on their first visit to the staves

...And felt incredibly stupid that the answer would be so obvious.  She had momentarily forgotten the height and width and depth of Loki’s talents, but right now she was dazed in every sense of the word.  He better not hold it against her.

“It took more than a few tries,” he admitted.  “I could hardly see a thing.”

“I think I heard you shouting,” she said, brushing the back of her hand across her forehead, mopping up sweat.

Loki rose to his feet, and Cora, too, shortly after.  He lifted his hand high into the tunnel which had deposited them there, casting light overhead, but it was not a tunnel that he found.  It was a ceiling, a roof of slatted wood.

Cora drew a gasp so audible that it echoed.  They stood in what appeared to be no more than a narrow corridor, decrepit and crumbling.  It came to an end where they had landed and stretched into endless darkness in the opposite direction, a hilly path of buckled tiles and fallen dirt.  But it was the hard surface overhead what was most disconcerting.

Loki was tall enough to touch the ceiling.  He rapped his knuckles against it and the dull thud repeated lightly.  “We passed through a transdimensional portal...” he murmured while his hand began to glow, just as it had while searching for the doorway in the screen in the stave.

“We’re not on _Earth_?”

At the same time, they pulled out their phones.

“I don’t have a signal,” said Loki.

Neither did she.

He went back to scanning the ceiling with his hand.  “We must be on Earth… I don’t think Ancient Man built their temples on other worlds… We must be underground…”  His words were disjointed as he searched, punctuated by deep pulls of air through his nose.

She shook her boggled head.  “And Ancient Man just dropped several hundred kilometers whenever he wanted to pray?”

“No, I imagine that the magic has become rather… decrepit over the centuries... making the portal unstable.”

“Magic can age?”

“Some can...”

He took a more pronounced breath as his hand fell limply to his side, like a dead thing.  Loki staggered backward a few steps and came to a stop.

With a hot wave down her spine, Cora felt as if she might be sick.

"What is it?” she said.  “Can we not get out?”

Loki twisted around and squinted down the tunnel.  “Not the way we came in...”

Cora folded forward, pushed her hands against her knees, and breathed a heavy, “Oh my God...”

A few minutes ticked by, perhaps in silence but Cora could not say.  All she could hear was the thrust of her pulse against her eardrums like a mallet.  All she could _see_ were the dark shadows cast by Loki’s boots as he paced.  They were encased in stone, underground, who knew how deep.  It was like a mausoleum. It was like a coroner’s drawer!

It startled her very much when Loki pressed his hand against her shoulder.  He looked like a statue, chiseled and grave as the tunnel surrounding them.

“I will figure it out."  The ironclad timbre of his voice bounced off the walls and she wanted to believe him, but his hand felt like ice through her sleeve.  Loki only tightened his grip. "If they made a way in, I can make a way out."

Cora swallowed hard.  She recognized the same shiver in his eyes after the explosion in the cafe, when he had unwittingly thrown her across the room and his face turned up from the floor in horror.  It was a photograph in her memory, taken seconds before the world went black. When she came to, Loki was inches from her face, and that same scarcely mastered fear was still there.

He drew back his hand and gave it a shake, but it was impossible to disguise how it trembled.  Loki continued to pace, his dark, deep-set eyes tick-tocking with thought. Cora clenched her jaw and waited.  She had nothing to offer, no tried and true methods for escaping graves once she was already inside them.

But Loki had managed to catch her as they plummeted through what was apparently several dimensions.  Surely he could come up with something. Maybe he could even blast through the ceiling and soil and rocks, back to the surface.

So, why was he not proposing that?  Why was he not saying anything at all?

Cora wondered what it looked like, as he made passes at her through the portal.  Loki claimed he could not fly, but what else was there to call it?  In the black tunnel, she could only imagine what was happening around her.  How many times had he whipped past in the dark, grazing her body but unable to grasp it? It was no wonder he was so out of breath when they landed.

She wished he would say something.  Her heart was still pounding ferociously.  “What are you thinking?”

Loki did not reply.  He had paced down the corridor, stalking like a cat, but well within earshot.

“Loki…” she called.  Her voice was horse and she hated the sound of it.  He was so far away that the light from the orb hardly reached her, and it felt as if she was slipping into the darkness.  The shadows drew closer and closer with each of his steps and Cora felt too frozen to follow. "Loki!"

He halted and looked over his shoulder, and then turned around completely.

Cora drew a shallow breath.  “I’m _scared_.”

The desire to apologize rose in her throat like bile.  She had every right and reason to be terrified -- it was rational, it was sane.  This place was a wide awake nightmare. But she hated how small she felt admitting to it.  Even after living for so long and surviving so much, fear still had immutable power over her, and of all people, it was Loki who had to witness it.

She could see his eyes by the glow of the orb, which had become his torch.  He was staring her down, silently judging her inability to compartmentalize, which he excelled at to the point of annoyance.  She had once thought herself talented, too, until Loki proved her wrong. She loathed the jelly sensation in her legs.

“It’s… fine…”  The words came from his mouth like broken things.  Anemic reassurance. But what was Loki going to do?  Coddle her? Honestly, that sounded worse.

“It’s not," she said, taking an unsteady step forward, and another, because dammit, she was going to walk or fall over trying.

Loki did not start moving again until she had passed him.  With one of his long strides he caught up, and then kept pace with her, holding back, staggering himself.  “Where are you going?”

“Into the temple.”  At least she they had a job to do while they were trapped.  They could find Thor’s relic and slowly starve to death with it inhand.

Cora stared ahead, able to see Loki only from the corner of her eye, and wanting to keep it that way.  She could make out the faint gray outline of an archway at the end of the corridor and shuffled her feet toward it, sliding them along the tile more often than lifting them.

“I don’t care for tight spaces, either,” he said.  “You’re not alone in that.”

“This is a more than a tight space, Loki,” she said coolly.

“Hey.”

Loki hooked his hand around her elbow.  He planted himself, forcing her stop. What now?  They had not been underground for more than a few minutes and already his tolerance for her was souring.  If he was about to scold her, she did not have the heart for it.

Cora lifted her eyes, prepared to mirror his every glare.  His wide open features took her by surprise.

“We are _not_ trapped,” he said, with a voice dulcet in its sincerity.  At once, the throbbing in Cora's ears ceased. “There’s more than one way out of even the tightest situations.  I’ll get us out of here. But until I do, I'm going to feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, same as you.”

Loki pulled back his hand, putting on display the tremor that coursed through his fingers, and then, he squeezed them shut.

It was no small thing.

Cora pressed her lips together, certain that if she reacted too strongly, even to what he had willingly exposed, that Loki would turn crimson, quite possibly in anger.  The sentimentality of gratitude was more than he was equipped to bear, but he had just admitted to feeling fear, admitted it to _her_ , to _comfort_ her, acknowledging the contempt she held for her own fear.  He did not want her to feel alone.

She chanced a nod and damned her swelling heart.  

“So you… have a plan?” she asked, knowing he would appreciate her pragmatism.

“One way or another, yes, I can get us out.  It might be at the cost of the temple, however, so we should search through it first, for Thor’s sake.”

“Cost of the temple?”

“Well, if I should need to blast through the ceiling--”

“With what?”

“Bombs.”

“You have _bombs?”_

Loki grinned, rather roguishly.  “Cora, I have a small armory in the recesses of my pockets.  There is little you could think of that I do _not_ have.”

She had not the faintest idea what to say to that, or why the thought of Loki setting explosives came along with a tingle down her spine, but she was tempted to test his claim.  Did he have enough food for them? What about a toilet? Did he have, say, a rocketship they could use to fly to freedom?

What about a one-eyed, one-horned, flying people people-eater?  Did he have that?

She narrowed her eyes to the side, toward the archway.  Loki’s attention followed her gaze and he outstretched his arm with the torch, casting light as far as he could reach.

“Bombs are an absolute last resort, of course,” he said, falling back into semi-seriousness.

“Of course,” repeated Cora, and simultaneously they turned and continued on the path to the temple door.  “Should we be worried about boobie traps, by the way?”

Loki squinted.  “What’s so fearsome about boobies?”

It took Cora a second to realize that he was attempting a joke.

“In fact,” he continued, dry as the dusty air around them, “I would imagine that if some breasts were all that lay in store for us, it would be a great comfort.”

"Ohmigosh…” Cora shook her head.  Was he really saying these things?  She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms.  “I mean, I don't know. I've seen some intimidating double-D's in my lifetime."

Loki hummed quizzically.  "Double-D's?"

So he had picked up the term _boobies_ , but not...  "It's descriptive of a very large brassiere."  She assumed he understood that much, though whether or not Asgardian women wore brassieres was beyond her pay grade.

"Ah," he chirped, and repeated the newly-learned phrase to himself.  “Double-D’s…”

"The kind where you wonder how the woman isn't tipping over."

At that, Loki outright laughed, loudly enough that it filled the tunnel.  "Ah. Yes, thoughts such as that have crossed my mind from time to time.”

Their accidental distraction worked.  Or maybe for Loki it had been thoroughly intentional.  Cora's legs still felt like jelly, but moving them was not quite so difficult as those first few steps.  Their eyes met as he laughed, and she was relieved to discover that had become easier to focus on him than the ominous doorway at the end of the corridor, which grew and loomed as they marched on.  Loki held his torch high, casting a pretty light on the outline of his nearly cut profile, like a pristine dusting of frost.

“What do you think Thor is doing?” she asked, after it had turned quiet.  And at that, it was as though the real snows came and Loki’s face fell beneath the weight of them.

“Attempting to punch his way through the floor?”  His answer had the cadence of another question, as though he had already considered several possibilities, all of them terrible.

“Does he have any ability to crack the magic codes?" she asked.

“If he did, he would not have needed to bring me to Norway,” said Loki, but with a frown he tilted his gaze to the floor.  “That’s not true. He wanted me here, even if I couldn’t have done anything to help.”

She chuckled.  “You really didn’t want to come, did you?”

But Loki’s expression remained sober.  “I honestly don’t know that I had any idea what I wanted, at the time.”

By now, she knew most of the story; she suspected she would never understand all of it.  He had been in New York for almost a year by then, a year of what amounted to house arrest, half his magic dispossessed, half his life force siphoned.  He was too proud to admit how unwell he had become, but Cora knew what she had seen, and she knew what Thor feared. It was slowly killing him. Or perhaps, not so slowly at all.

When she thought about it for too long, it still made her chest feel like it was in a vice.  It filled her with hatred toward people she had never met and everything started to burn.

All in defense of Loki, the devil who had attempted to rule this planet.  It was becoming necessary to actively remind herself of what happened in New York, that his punishment was meant to serve justice.  By every measure, he deserved far less than the generosity of a house arrest. Even Loki had told her to accept the facts as they were.

_‘Dr. Eriksen, I am responsible for everything I did.  Let’s not shy from the truth…’_

His words.  Was it guilt he felt?  Was it shame? Was it merely the sting of failure?  Did he really care at all?

There were times when Cora felt selfish for pushing so much of what Loki had done into a dusty corner.  She did not know what it said about her that she would rather keep beside him in a dark corridor and not remind herself that so much of him was in darkness itself.  When she laughed at his silly words of comfort -- which were almost surreptitious because he was too proud to admit that they were friends -- was she laughing at the expense of someone who had suffered at his hands?

Why did she need to _remind_ herself to think of these things?  It seemed unconscionable that they should ever slip her mind.

But they did.  They did constantly.

Cora glanced at her feet, at the way his boots moved in and out of sync with hers.  “It took months for him to convince you to come along.”

"Yes, well…”  He breathed a sigh.  “I am not unhappy to be here, now.”

She did not chance lifting her eyes.  She could not risk it, not with Loki’s ability to see through everything.

Because something between them had snapped into place, and they were both determined to pretend it had not.  They were going to go on as if the explosion in the cafe had not revealed anything. He was measuring his distance just as much as she -- he seemed to have his own set of qualms, thank goodness.  They could only speak in couched terms and hope the other did not ask, _‘But what do you mean?  What do you really mean?’_

“Not _here_ as in trapped underground, I imagine,” she said.

“No, but even this could be much worse.  And Seine… There’s more here than I expected to find.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.  Loki might as well have run his fingers along her skin, and a fairly ashamed part of her wished he would.  

Cora balled her hands.

He cleared his throat.  “I can understand why you chose to live there.”

“I wanted to be somewhere remote until I figured out what to do next.”

A few beats passed before he replied, literally marked by the dull shuffle of their steps.  “Cora, there thousands of remote locales on this planet, many of them more secluded that this.  You chose to stay in Norway because you had hope that there was more to this place than what meets the eye.”  At last, Cora looked at him, because it finally felt safe, and found Loki gesturing to their surroundings. “And here we are.  And Thor was right, damn him.”

“Are you saying you believe in fate?”

Loki snorted.  “I have to. It’s defied me so many times.”

They had come to the archway, though in reality, what they had come to was a halt.  Loki’s words bounced off the unseen surfaces in the dark, just beyond the reach of the torch.  There were shapes on the other side, massive shapes; Cora surmised that they were statues. Some of the shapes appeared to be broken, but still, nothing but enormous shapes swathed in shadow, and everything was silent.

“Here we go,” she breathed.  Into the nightmare. What she had expected of Thor’s abandoned Asgardian temples, anyway?  A tropical oasis? Something out of Disneyland?

“And here you are,” said Loki, reclaiming Cora’s attention.  He was holding two orbs, now, both of them glowing.

“Oh!”  Cora held out her hands, cupping them as if Loki was about to pour out a liquid, rather than hand her a rock.  He stifled his amusement by biting his lip -- or maybe she only imagined it -- and rolled one of the balls into her hands.  (And Cora was _very_ surprised that he did not crack a joke about it.)

Like the first, it was cool to the touch.  It felt as though it was made of glass. Cora moved it to one hand, rotating it back and forth, admiring its station between the pads of her fingers.  It was easier to handle than she expected.

“I feel like Jareth,” she said.

“Jareth?”

“It’s, uh, it’s another Bowie thing.”

Loki tisked.  “ _Another_ Bowie thing?”

“It’s a movie where he plays an evil king of sorts and he… juggles these balls…”  Thought she did not dare attempt to give Loki a visual using the possibly very fragile orb.

“Sounds riveting.”

“You would probably like it.”

“Are you stalling?”

“...Yes.”

She was, but entering the temple was inevitable, and as Loki unceremoniously stepped inside, it became immediate.  They carried their torches through the archway and everything bloomed into full color.

The shapes were, as it turned out, exactly what Cora expected: statues -- enormous wooden statues of women holding platters.  There were four of them, one on each wall of what was a respectable-sized chamber, identical in almost every way, except for the platters themselves.  On each platter, two bore fruit and wheat, while the other two balanced nothing but their oversized, bare breasts.

Loki and Cora craned their necks and blinked.

“You know what?” said Loki.  “It’s not nearly as comforting as I expected.”

No, these were imposing figures, almost grotesque in their magnitude.  Cora approached the feet of the nearest one and cast her light across them.  Once upon a time, they appeared to have been painted, down to a bright pedicure.  The wood was oak, in such remarkable condition that it was unreal. Did the magical seal on this place have something to do with that, she wondered.

Much of the detail work was a crude form of _chip carving_ , probably early Viking-era in origin, if not somehow earlier.  Cora did not think she could date it any later than 900 A.D., but right now she was little more than a pair of eyes.  The chipwork was most prominent along the edges of their skirts and on the platters themselves, though it was difficult to see more than the bottom of those; everything towered so far overhead.

“I think these are man-made, Loki.”  Cora ran her palm along the top of one of the feet before backing away.  “Do you think this might have been some sort of fertility temple? To Freya, perhaps?”

“Possibly,” came Loki’s reply from the other side of the room.  “And I agree, man-made. Fascinating, but too crude to be Asgardian.”

In the center of the room were a few benches, or altars, also oak, and the chip carving on them matched the pattern on the platters.  What none of it matched was the maritime screen which had concealed the portal in the first place. Perhaps it had been intentionally misleading.  How clever, if that were so -- hidden in plain sight, passing as part of the mythos of Saint Nicholas.

The chamber was a perfect square.  Just like the corridor, the tile extended along the floor and walls, but not the ceiling, which was made of wood, very similar to the beams of the stave church they had left behind.  If only Santa Claus knew what lay beneath his feet.

Cora pulled out her phone and began to take pictures, using the gentle light of the orb rather than the flash.  She wanted to disturb as little as possible, until Loki resorted to bombs.

Cora knelt to get close shots of the chipwork.  “Loki, was Freya real?”

“Very much.  I suppose these statutes might be a crude representation of her.  She didn’t walk around...” She glanced from her work in time to catch Loki stretching his arms forward, as though he was holding a platter.  “Though she could have. I don’t think many would have protested. What are you doing?”

“Documenting things.”

“What about Thor’s relic?”

“I’m looking for that, too.  This will only take a minute.  So she was beautiful, then?”

“Oh.  Yes. Exquisitely.”

The words rolled off his tongue with such acid that Cora looked up, but Loki’s back was already turned.  He was busy gliding his hand across the wall, sparks appearing every so often, just as he had upstairs with the screen.  Thor’s relic would have to wait its turn. Then again, it was not as if there was anything in the room remotely resembling what he was in search of: there were the statues and the benches and that was it.  There did not appear to be anything in the room at all.

“Was Freya was the Goddess of Fertility in Asgard as well?” she asked.

Loki shrugged.  “Those titles, they don’t mean much to us.  Though… Thor always took God of Thunder a little too seriously.”  And they had already discussed his feelings about being known solely for mischief.

Loki paused as he turned a corner, with his free hand lingering on one of the tiles.  It glowed bright and quickly dimmed. Cora thought she heard him growl.

“She was once a Valkyrie, from what I was told,” Loki went on, when the sparks produced no answers.  “Though by the time I knew her, she resided on the Isle of Love with what was essentially a cult in her honor.”

There was a curious touch of disdain in his voice.  Cora found it amusing, smiling to herself as she rose back to her feet.  At least one of them had to give the chamber a real search, though it was difficult to tear her eyes from Loki at work.  His hands were putting on a show, like watching a thief with an iron safe. “I guess that’s where the fertility goddess part got started,” she said.

“You know…” he said, at some length,  “Thor was once tempted to marry her.”

_“Really?”_

“He didn’t, of course, which was a relief, honestly.  I do not think he would have done well, knowing that his wife had a harem of devotees.  It’s appealing at first, but…”

She cast an incredulous look across her shoulder.  “Is it appealing, though?”

“It’s probably nice to have your choices constantly affirmed.  Thor certainly got used to it.”

Cora’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the curve of her bangs.  Loki stole a look in her direction. He measured her silence, pushing his jaw forward in that way he did when he was debating with himself.  Cora had learned to read at least a few of his signals.

He lifted his shoulder.  “Thor wasn’t always the Thor you were so fortunate to meet.  If you had run into him, say, ten years ago, I’m not sure the two of you would have gotten along so easily.”  It seemed as though he intended to stop there, but Cora could see the wheels still turning, and again Loki frowned and set to amending his unkindness toward his brother.  “Or perhaps you would. It was a visit to Earth that set everything right...”

The orb caught some flickering in his eyes as they danced back and forth.  Cora waited quietly. What was moving through his mind, so like the wind?

But all Loki did was give an abrupt shrug and turn back to what he was doing.  “He changed. For the better.” A weak smile served as punctuation before he turned back to the wall, and that was all he intended to say on the matter of Earth’s effect on his brother.

Cora shifted her weight from one hip to the other.  It was so quiet that even the shuffling of her clothes echoed.  “Well… That’s good, isn’t it?” she said, urging him to go on if he had any inclination whatsoever, but all Loki offered was a low, _Mmm-Hmm._

She turned back to her own work, to whatever she was doing here.  She had lost track. Aside from the statues and the benches, the chamber was empty.  There was nothing of Asgard except for Loki, and certainly nothing that passed for a relic.

Still, she searched, because what more was there to do.  It felt as though she was killing time, while Loki did important things.

“So… Thor was once _almost_ married,” she mused, as she circled the room.  “A thousand years and only _one_ almost?  What about Sif?  The Edda pairs them off.”

Loki chuckled, which she found reassuring.  “Oh, he’s been in and out of love at least a hundred times.  He and Sif were friends. She still lives, as far as I am aware.  She fought alongside Thor, which is rare for an Asgardian Lady, but I think mankind assumed too much.”

“Yes, well, we’re famous for that.”

“Putting the two of them together is tabloid fodder.”

“And the scientist he was working with?”  Which had been _actual_ tabloid fodder.  The All-American Girl and the Demi-God.  Most of the time, the magazines conveniently seemed to forget that the woman had actually been at the epicenter of Thor's first appearance.

Loki did not reply right away.  “Jane?”

“Foster, I think?”

Again, there was a noticeable silence, a pause pregnant with more than Cora could pin down.  She glanced and Loki and caught him shaking his head. “I cannot say what happened there. Thor does not talk about her.”

Remove any mention of Asgard and epic Norse poetry, and it all sounded staggeringly familiar: the rise and fall of relationships, couples parting ways, a brother's concern.  Thor and Loki were both at least a thousand years old. In the end, all that separated the gods from man might have been sheer experience: a thousand years of the same peaks and valleys.  Cora would think it might become mundane after a while. But the tension on Loki's brow suggested otherwise.

Suddenly, he smiled that slyest smile of his.  "Aren't you going to ask about Sigyn?"

Cora’s jaw dropped.  No, she had not planned on it, because discussing Thor's romantic history was one thing and discussing Loki's was very much something else.  "I wasn't, actually," she said, in a tone that bordered on teasing him. "Because I assumed that if you had a wife, she would have come up by now."

Loki lifted an eyebrow.  "Hm."

“Hm, indeed.”

"Well, if you were at all curious, she was...a fabrication.”

He was teasing her, too, and for once, Cora rather enjoyed it.

“One of the few kindnesses humanity showed me, inventing someone to stand by me in my darkest hour.  The Goddess of Fidelity, if I remember correctly.  But no, I was never so fortunate to have such a wife, but nor was the tale of the venomous snake true, so I suppose it balances out." He shrugged.  “What creative forms of torture humans invent.”

Cora shook her head at him, but he was not wrong.  It was interesting, from a literary perspective, that so much of the mythology was based on no more than a few kernels of truth.  This goddess existed, that one did not -- epic poems grew from no more than a seed. It was, in a way, all glorified tabloid fodder.

Loki and Thor were not human, but they were flesh and blood.  They had true life stories behind all of the fabrications. Somehow, she was now a part of those facts.

But as for the relic…

“I don’t think what Thor’s looking for is here,” she said, seating herself with an air of defeat on one of the benches.

Loki continued his search along the walls, but he was not having any more luck than she.  “Sit tight and I’ll keep working. Are you hungry?” he asked.

Cora thought for a moment.  “Yes.”

Loki waved his hand and conjured…a chocolate bar: a _Snickers_ , to be precise.  “Do you like these?” he asked.

Cora pressed her lips together, so she would not laugh.  Of all the things she thought might appear, this was not one of them, but it was a sweet offering.  She nodded and he passed it to her and went back to work. Cora turned the chocolate bar over in her hands.  Apparently, wherever Loki had discovered Snickers was an Asian-speaking nation. The ingredients were listed in characters she could not read.

She peeled back the wrapper and broke the chocolate into two pieces.  “Do you want half?”

Loki turned with his eyebrows pinched together, forming opposing expressions, battling one another.  “Um… All right.”

Giving his palm a quick wipe against the side of his pants, he took his half and sat down on the bench at her left.  He placed the orb in his lap and, quietly, they ate. It was hot enough that the chocolate melted faster than they could keep up.  Cora furtively licked it from her fingers, self-conscious for reasons that did not really exist, but when she glanced at Loki, he was doing the same thing.  Messily enjoying chocolate was a universal language, it seemed, even for the gods.

“It’s sort of funny,” she said,  “Watching you in here, a Norse temple, wearing jeans and button-down.”

Loki wrinkled his nose.  With a quick smile, and an equally quick shimmer of light, the earthy clothing transformed into his Asgardian garb.  The golden helm, too, took form atop his head. She had not asked for it, or had she? Cora decided not to answer the question.

“Is this better?” he asked.

It was.  It really was, though she had not expected him to do that.  “Oh, very handsome,” she said.

To Cora, it sounded like an understatement, though the words slipped out faster than she would have liked.  The apples of her cheeks quickly turned hot. It was probably for the best that the clothing also reminded her of New York, of the photographs she had seen, not to mention her vision.  It took the edge off.

Loki began grinning in that impish way of his when he was especially pleased with himself, the broadest of his smiles that wrinkled those charming lines beside his eyes.  He relished in the pomp of his royal clothing: he sat up straighter, he puffed out his chest -- he was flirting with her, really, but she could not call him out for it. No, she could say nothing, Cora warned herself, as she slipped her hands beneath her thighs and sat on them.

“The last time you saw me like this, I think you turned white as a sheet,” he said, holding out his hand to take back the Snickers wrapper, and subsequently _poof_ it into oblivion as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Wasn’t that your intention?  To intimidate me?”

“It was,” he replied.  “The big guns, as you say.”

“Do Asgardians dress like this every day?”

“More or less.  Mostly less,” said Loki, head playfully lilting from side to side.  Maybe it was a sugar rush from the chocolate, but his mood had a habit of turning on a dime as it was.  He was effervescent when he was showing off.

Cora had to look away at that point, though from the corner of her eye she could see Loki’s grin live on as he removed the helm and brushed out his hair.  He placed it to the side and the metal made a dull clank against the wood. She turned her eyes toward the ceiling. “Do you think you could make this place a little more cheerful?”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing you do, where you make everything look different.  You know. Could you make this look less like a tomb?”

But already, the walls were changing, disappearing.  In a few seconds, they were on the main strip of Seine’s shopping district, beside the bay.  It was dusk and their benches faced the water and, though perhaps she was imagining it, all of the colors were slightly more saturated.  It was a subtle touch, but the setting was so familiar to her that she took notice. It was like a painter’s version of what had become a commonplace sight.

She hummed with delight.  “But...somewhere a bit more exotic, perhaps.  Just for a few minutes, before you have to get back to work.”

“Exotic, exotic…” Loki repeated.  If he had any idea that she was appealing to his vanity and talent, then he seemed just fine with it.  “All right…”

The visual of Seine vibrated for a moment, as the mountains in the distance vanished.  The water of the bay spread to fill in the horizon and the pavement beneath them turned into sand.  It was a beach, but not a beach on Earth, she surmised. There were large planets above them, or maybe they were a pair of moons.  The sky itself was streaked with viridian and violent. Her naked eye could see nebulas beyond the atmosphere.

“Where are we?”

“Asgard,” said Loki.  She looked at him, then.  The grin was gone, but the afterglow remained.  His eyes looked as though they were taking in every detail at once, wide and, Cora realized, slightly wet.

Small wonder.  It was heaven.

The benches where they sat were now dunes.  Cora reached down and discovered that this time she could touch the illusion.  She could even smell the seawater. The physical presence of their true surroundings had vanished and she wondered how much power it took to maintain such a spell.  The sand was warm in her hand. She watched it drain through her fingers, marveling openly.

Through the grains of sand she caught sight of Loki, his face pointed at the water, but his eyes sidelong, watching her.  The corner of his mouth twitched. He shifted his weight against the dune and folded his legs, only to unfold them again. All Cora wanted to do was ask what he was thinking.

Loki’s gaze went back on the move, moving slowly from point to point.  He took in the moons overhead and tufts seagrass on the sand. Cora turned around and gauged their distance from what she knew to be the palace.  It was so far away that she could hardly see the enormous structure. The beach was so still and isolated, untouched by anything but the kiss of the ocean.

 _Why this specific spot_ , she wondered.   _Why so far?_

“Was this a place you visited often?” She asked.

Loki nodded.  “Oh yes. I came here when I needed to get away.”

"Why here?"

His brow knit.  She could tell he was debating with himself: would he answer, would he decide against it?  Cora did not take it personally.

He picked up a fragment of seagrass and began rolling it between his fingers.  "When I was too inexperienced to navigate the portals to other worlds, I was confined to Asgard.  This is as far as I believed I could get from the palace, which probably wasn't true, but it seemed far enough.  It felt like the edge of the world. Even as I grew older, I still chose this place. It was mine. My refuge of sorts."

"Why so far from everything?"

"Why _not?_ "  Loki seemed genuinely surprised by her question.  Grim laughter escaped his throat. "Do you imagine it was _easy_ for me, the way that I am?  The way that Thor is?"

The grass reed tore and Loki let the pieces fall.

"He was born to be King.  We both realized that rather early on."

No, it could not have been easy.

“And you needed to get away often?”

“Often enough,” he replied, dusting off his hands.  The sky overhead faded to gray. For a few moments, in looked like a gathering storm, but then the walls of the temple came back into view.  The illusion was coming to an end.

“Has he really changed?” Cora asked.  Could it have possibly have been so bad?  It was difficult to imagine, given the Thor she knew.

Loki’s smile returned.  “Tenfold,” he said. “Though he’s more irritating than ever, now that he insists on loving me so much.”

His clothes began to transform, too, returning to what he had been wearing before.  Once again, he looked nearly human. Loki picked up the orb, which had been resting neatly in his lap throughout their illusory travels, and turned it over in his hands.  She expected him to stand next, to go back to work, but he did not. With one final roll of the orb, he became still.

“Cora, I have a confession to make.”

For a moment, Cora was not certain she heard what she thought she heard.  "What?"

Loki raised his eyes from his lap.  “As far as getting out of here is concerned, I could have done so as soon as we landed.”  He flicked his face in the direction of the ceiling. “It’s not a long distance. I can transport myself easily.  The question has always been, how was I going to get _you_ out of here.”

She eyelids fluttered.  “What?” she repeated. Loki could have left immediately?  He was not a monster, so he never would have. But he could have.  He was never in danger of being trapped.

He pushed his weight to the edge of his bench and leaned across the small distance between them.  “I can’t pull you through the ceiling. I thought I might be able to create another portal, but I can’t while the first exists, and I can’t risk destroying it.  The structure might very well collapse. Or, in a worst-case scenario, the portal would grow to the size of the structure it’s been protecting, pulling you in with it.”

“O-Okay,” she said dumbly.  She had gone numb.

"I know it might sound all a bit mad..."

"No.  I...trust your judgment."

Loki swallowed.  The knot of his Adam's apple shuddered before he went on.  “So, my only choice is to repair the first portal. But… Cora, I can’t do that from this side.”

She swallowed, too, but her mouth had gone dry.  “So, you're saying… you need to...”

“In order to do it, I need to leave you here.”

Loki pressed his lips together into a grim line.  His eyes were wide with the same flickering fear as when they discovered how they were trapped.  Had that fear ever left? But he was a pragmatist. There was determination in his eyes, too. He was going to get her out by the necessary means. It was just very unfortunate that the necessary means were _horrifying_.

As for Cora, her brain was spinning.  Stuck _here_ , walled in a nightmare.  All alone. Robotically, she rose from her bench and began walking in the direction of the archway.  Her body felt cold. Like it was not really there. “O-Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

She could vaguely hear the clap of Loki's boots as he jogged after her.  “I don’t know how long it will take.”

Cora folded her arms across her chest and nodded.  It would take as long as it would take. And he would get her out.  She kept repeating it to herself.

They walked quickly, almost marching, although Cora was too numb to really tell.  It seemed like they arrived at the end of the tunnel much faster than it took the first time.  But everything was a haze of gray, they might have been running for all she knew.

She was already at the end.  Cora turned around and saw Loki craning his neck toward the ceiling.  Was he making calculations? How did any of this work? She was just a bystander, now.

She closed her eyes and pulled in as deep of a breath as her lungs allowed.

Loki's hands on her shoulders prompted her to open them again.  He gave her a shake.

“I’ll be all right,” she blurted, not knowing which of them needed to hear it more.

Loki stepped back.  With a shimmer that was now familiar, a large cushion appeared on the floor, and beside it, water and food.  Cora spotted another Asian Snickers bar and almost smiled at the sight.

As for the orb he had been holding, Loki passed it to her.  Cora realized she had left hers behind in the temple. She felt a lot less confident than Jareth, turning it over in her hands, and holding the orb beneath them cast a haunting light on their faces.

“I’ll repair it as quickly as I can,” he said.

She nodded.  “I know. I’ll sit tight.  I’ll be fine.” She sounded slightly more sure of herself this time, though it surprised her own ears to hear it.

“Once I start, I won't be able to come back until it's repaired.  "

“I understand."

"But I promise, I won't leave you here."  

His hands were folded together, trembling as he scratched the center of his palm.  Cora took them in, thinking about the light that shone from them when his magic was focused, and how human they seemed now.

"Well… good luck."

Loki closed his eyes.  "Cora…"

She pushed her hand against his shoulder.  "Go on. Go fix it."

His eyes snapped open.  He pulled a final breath, taking her in with the steely determination of a hunter, before turning his eyes to the ceiling.  Cora rethought pushing him away. Her fingers tightened their grip on the sleeve of his shirt. Just once, she wanted to pull him close.

Her hand fell.  "I'll be fine."

Loki gritted his teeth.  "Sit tight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble, which is why it took so long. I did get it to where I wanted it to be, though. So that's good. Still, it nearly killed me.
> 
> I hope you like it! Haha


	21. Sirkler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki sets to the task of rescuing Cora. Cora endures a different sort of quest.

The first thing Loki felt was the sensation of falling, which was reasonably unexpected, as he had been transporting himself upward through the earth.  His calculations, it seemed, were slightly off, misjudging the thickness of the ground between the temple and the stave, but to overestimate was far better than to underestimate and end up encased in dirt.

When he struck the wooden floor of the church, all Loki felt was relief.

For the briefest of moments.

He pushed himself to his knees and began circling his palm over the floor, which was blessedly cool to the touch after so much time in the airless, almost sultry temple.  Cora was down there, beneath layers of rock and soil, facing a nightmare, so frightened that for the first time she had willingly admitted it.

_‘Loki.  I’m scared.’_

And in hearing those words, he felt stirred to his very core, and flushed with the most unexpected joy.

Was it selfish?  To take felicity in her admission?  Not in her fear itself, of course, not at all, but…  Cora could say that she trusted him all day long: she trusted him to work at solving the mystery of her longevity, she trusted him to be blunt when she craved honesty.  She said she trusted him and he believed her.

But to confide in him when she trembled, that was more than mere words.

For a few moments, an apt response eluded him completely.  He recalled staring at her like a fool, watching her fill with regret and self-loathing while he could come up with nothing to say.  He had no talent for giving comfort, or if he ever did, it was long-forgotten, a muscle which had atrophied by lack of exercise, for who was it that turned to him for help?

Loki’s first thought was to take her by the hand.  People did that sort of thing when they were frightened, did they not?  The two of them could walk the dark corridor like schoolchildren.

But he suspected he would only be capable of maintaining such innocence for a short while.  Palm-to-palm was far too intimate a touch, and how many times already had he imagined passing his hand across her cheek, caressing her neck, glossing his fingertips across the swell of her full...lips.

He needed to beat his imagination into submission with a stick.

No, he was not quite so foolish as to think he could throw caution to the wind, especially in the dark privacy of the temple.  In the end, all he could give her was a promise: he would get her out.

He left behind what he could, a few items to help her pass the time, but it was naught but a pittance compared to what he wished he could have done.  Had he been able to blast them out, he would not have hesitated. The destruction of a man-made temple was no loss to him, but the protection spell was too ancient and too fractured, and after the explosion in the cafe, he would not risk harming Cora the same way twice.

Now, she was just beneath him, so close, and yet she might as well have been on another planet, but he was going to pull her through.  It was just a matter of how long it would take and what methods to test.

He could only have been on his hands and knees for a few seconds, but Loki was staring so intently into the floor that he failed to notice when his brother called his name the first time.  By the second time, Thor was _skittering_ across the stave.  He fell to his knees beside Loki and threw his arms around him, all but knocking him over.

Loki did not have the time or, really, the ability to take interest in Thor’s embrace, though it was an additional relief to discover that his brother had not destroyed the building by calling down lightning.  Everything was exactly as it had been, even the screen with the marine shapes had been set upright.

“Where is Cora?” he asked.

“Underground,” said Loki, pushing himself to his feet as much as Thor was pulling him.  He shouldered his brother aside, though gently. His eyes could not be deterred from the screen and he began to approach it, twisting his hands.  “The passageway is damaged. I could not get her back out.”

“Damaged?  Not by me, I hope.”

Loki turned sharply, pushing himself with all his churning energy toward Thor, whose eyes flashed as he took a step back.  Under different circumstances, Loki might have relished in how the tables were turned for once, that his anger was something more fearsome, but it was the furthest thing from his mind.  “What do you mean?” he hissed.

“I swear to you, Brother, all I did was pick up the screen.  That didn’t do any damage, did it?”

Loki pulled back.  He allowed himself a moment to breathe, and to take in his brother.  He had half-expected -- more than half, really -- to find fist-shaped holes in the floor, but there was nothing like that, no outrageous signs of violent frustration.  In fact, Thor was as jittery as a goat, like a child who had become separated from his family in an unfamiliar place, which Loki supposed was very near to what had happened.  It must have been a shock to see Cora and he suddenly vanish into the air. It had shocked Loki himself! But had they truly given him such a fright?

It turned Loki’s stomach to see his brother this way, it always had.  He did not enjoy playing the brave one when Thor was so clearly at a loss.  It never sat right.

But he could spare no time worrying about it.  Thor would be fine once he got Cora out. Loki began to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and roll them.  His stomach continued its churning. “No. The problem is that the portal is a piece of junk. How long were we gone?”

“Almost an hour.  I tried to call you”

“We could not attain a signal.  The temple is too deep in the ground.”

With all the abruptness that was innate to him, Thor thrust forth his hand and cupped the back of Loki’s neck.  “Then it’s real?” His voice shivered with raw and fresh emotion, with awe. “It’s really down there?”

Loki made a motion that was both a nod and a reluctant sigh.  “Yes. But there was nothing there, nothing of Asgard. Cora took photos of the rest.”  And with that, Thor’s hand fell and Loki turned to the carved screen. 

“But that proves, at the very least, that the temples exist,” Thor went on.  “What are you doing now?”

Loki pulled a sharp breath.  “I need to fix it. Stabilize it.  Something!” He could recall the spot where the lock had been placed, in the eye of a dolphin, just right of the center.  He ran his palms down his face, pressed them into his cheeks and, squeezing his eyes shut, attempted to visualize the task set before him, which was its own kind of challenge.

Because Loki had never done this before.

 

* * *

 

It was not the first time she had seen Loki vanish before her eyes, yet Cora flinched the second he was gone.  A ripple of golden light, and the air rushed in to fill the vacuum he left behind. It was like a magician disappearing a rabbit, only Loki was both rabbit and magician.  Her brain wanted to reject that it was even possible, and at the same time begged to see the trick again, only done in reverse.  

For a while, she stood and waited, hoping that he had only warned her, again and again, about the time it would require to repair the portal on the off-chance it took longer than a few minutes.  But a few minutes passed, and then a few more, and Cora forced herself to accept that Loki had once again been telling her nothing but the truth.

For the first time, she really hoped he had been lying.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself, recalling what it felt like to have Loki’s arms there instead, as they flew through the damaged portal, and the thrill of being rescued.

Already, her palms were clammy and cold.  Even the stagnant air of the cave suddenly seemed chilly.

Sitting on the cushion he had conjured felt like admitting defeat, but Cora sank into it and crossed her legs, wondering if it might have been smart to ask Loki to put her into something like hibernation.  She had no idea if he could do that sort of thing, but the thought of sleeping until he fixed the portal sounded heavenly, and she very much doubted she would be able to drift off on her own.

Maybe it was for the best she stayed awake.  Less risk of actual nightmares.

Cora traced her fingers along the cushion’s batik pattern before picking up a water bottle and, placing her orb-torch in her lap, she twisted off the cap.

There were two bottles…

And enough snacks to sustain her for a few hours…

Were these things he had saved in his pockets or items Loki had crafted from scratch?  Either way, it did not seem like he expected to be back any time soon.

Cora sipped the water.  The rustling of her movements echoed down the corridor and into the shadows.  She closed her eyes and tried pretending she was somewhere else, her own bedroom, the beach Loki had conjured, but for once her imagination failed her.  Her thoughts themselves seemed to vibrate with static, like a broken television, and her hands continued to tremble.

Maybe she was hungry.  Maybe something to eat would help.  So she began digging through the snacks.

That was when she found the Rubik’s Cube.

At first, she thought it was another one of Loki’s strangely packaged Japanese candies.  Cora picked it up with both hands, her face contorting with surprise, disbelief, and finally amazement.

Loki had seen what she kept behind the cafe counter one time.  Once. It could not have been for longer than a few seconds. She turned the familiar object over, she gave it a twist.  It was not _hers_ , the colors were slightly off, as though he had selected them at random, including purple and black and pink.  Maybe he already had some idea of what a Rubik’s cube was, but this was a Loki variation.

Cora pressed a hand against her forehead.  Even the blue Baton pattern of the cushion he had given her was not dissimilar to her own.

He had teased her about it at the time, called it her _nest_ behind her work counter.  Now, he had recreated it to give her what little comfort he could.  

But had he…?

She found Bowie behind the cushion: Ziggy Stardust in bobblehead form, with a lightning bolt across his oversized face.  It was on the wrong side, and the clothing was a completely random invention, but Loki could only piece everything together as well as he could remember.

Cora did not know whether she felt more like laughing or crying.  She felt thrown into such a flutter of emotion that she did not know whether it was pain or pleasure shouldered the weight of it.  Her hand moved from her forehead to her mouth and, finally, over her chest. She fingered the buttons on her blouse, twisting them.  He had been careless, really; it was too overt. When they saw each other again, did he really intend to feign, with any believability, that all of it was no more than a trifle, a token gesture of simple tokens?

Cora blotted a tear from her eye before it fell.  She had to purge herself of this mush before he returned, or the moment she saw Loki she feared she would throw her arms around his neck.  Once already, she had made that mistake, drunkenly, but she knew felt like to hold Loki by accident. Holding him on purpose would be the death of all pretense.

She began to twist the levels of the Rubik’s Cube until no two squares of the same color were beside one another and everything was properly separated.  A sigh of relief rose in her breast. She had something to focus on, now, a clear task.

It was not the first time he had slipped.  Even in how he concealed his ability to leave the temple at any time, which meant that his poorly disguised panic had not been for him, but for her.  That was going to be difficult to forget.

Cora suspected that Loki believed himself opaque, and in many ways he was, but even before the explosion in the cafe, it was clear he was warming to her: teasing her, because he could tell she liked it, flirting with the idea of flirting.  And if Cora was being perfectly honest, the moment he had offered her that list, something within her had been set into motion…

And then afterward, watching him sleep when he looked so at peace with the world.  And handsome.

She shook her head and gave the Cube a rather violent twist.  Really, she ought to have been angry with him for not being upfront about how he could escape the temple.  It would have saved them so much time.

Her penchant for solving the Cube was not a natural talent.  Aside from defying death, Cora was fairly certain she had no natural talents, and in that she took a great deal of pride.  Her skills, all of them, had been cultivated, acquired through dedication and education: her career, her eye for detail, even the depths of her patience.  Long ago, she could not have borne this type of _waiting_.  It would have driven her mad.  But she was over a hundred years old; if anything, she had learned how to wait.

She could outlast anything, even this waking nightmare into which she had landed, even the allure a raven-haired and roguish demi-god.  In fact, that much was easy. It was ignoring the thinly veiled simplicity of his heart that was becoming difficult. Damn him.

Cora was half-way to solving the puzzle when she began to pick up on a rhythmic humming.  At first, she thought it was only a buzzing in her ears, but soon she noticed that the chips in the tile floor were shivering like plucked strings.  The noise intensified. Cora stared down the corridor, into what was once black as night, and realized she could suddenly make out the archway into the temple.  Everything was brighter. Everything was beginning to pulsate.

Cora dropped the toy in her hands and picked up the torch.  It was little more than a nightlight, now outshone by the glow coming from the tunnel walls themselves.  Was this Loki at work? He had not warned her that anything like this might happen.

The orb in her hands began to tingle, its vibrations rolling through her arms down to the bone, pulsating in time with the light in the corridor and the rapid beat of her heart.  It mounted feverishly. Cora held her breath.

And then the torch went out like an overwhelmed lightbulb.  Cora shrieked. Everything went dark. The pulsating stopped.  The air around her turned hauntingly still, except for furious pounding in her chest.

“Shit... Shit…”  Cora turned the orb over and over, shaking it in the desperate hope that it might bring back the light.

She turned her face up toward the ceiling, even though there was nothing she could see.  She certainly could not see through the earth to where Loki was. Had something gone wrong?  Had Loki failed? Had he not promised her that he would return, whether he was successful or not?

Cora squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out darkness with darkness, and considered the possibility that she might want to begin praying.  

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the tiled corridor.  Cora rocketed to her feet. She was standing on a flat stretch of land.  It went on for kilometers before meeting the horizon, unbroken in every direction: no mountains, no trees, nothing but an endless plane of nothingness.  The earth itself had a reddish hue, the sky was an unnatural pink. It was a wasteland, a ruined field.

It was the world of her vision, the recurring dream which had haunted her for over a century, but Cora was certain she had not fallen asleep; she was very much awake.  She could pinch herself, which she did, and feel the sting of it and it changed nothing.

Cora could even hear her very physical heart rumbling in her ears.

She turned in a slow circle, though her legs rebelled with wobbling.  Where was Loki? In the vision, he was always running toward her, but this horizon was barren.  Where was the figure in Asgardian armor who called her name, racing at top speed, his hair whipped by the wind?

Where was the wind?  Even that was missing.  Everything was silent and eerily still.  She was utterly alone, alone in the center of deserted nothing.

What had happened to Loki?

 

* * *

 

The trick was navigating the portal without being pulled into it.

 _Or_ , if the screen was like a doorway, then Loki’s mistake the first time had been pushing too hard.  The barrier had swung open and he and Cora tumbled inside. What he was doing now, with the precision of a neurosurgeon, was more like conducting an operation while peering through the metaphysical keyhole, though it was not as though there was anything to see.  No, this was like _feeling_ his way through a keyhole.  He could close his eyes or open them, it made no difference.  Either way, he was squinting into the darkness.

And surgery was never meant to be conducted blind.

Thor, without any means to assist, paced up and down the aisles of the stave.  His heavy footfalls sounded like a ticking clock. Loki had started and stopped several times, the shimmer on his palms turning on and off and on again.   It had been, perhaps, no more than half an hour. Making progress was a numbing, painstaking ordeal, and his mind felt like a pulled muscle. Even in the cold air of the stave, beads of sweat were beginning to shine on his brow.

And Thor’s incessant pacing was a mounting annoyance.

“Could you stop!”  Loki’s burning hands fell to his sides.  “ _Please._ ”

Thor froze.  “Stop what?”

“That.  Stop stomping around.  It’s driving me insane.”

Thor glanced at his feet.  When he lifted his eyes, his face was creased with a deep frown.  “I don’t have anything to do. I’m going insane twice as quickly as you are!”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose.  He almost wished he had a task to entrust to Thor but was it too much to ask for silence?  “Nevermind,” he turned back to the screen without offering any suggestions.

“How much longer do you think it will be?”  The question sent Loki’s skin itching. He was going to kill Thor, truly he was.  “Loki?”

“I don’t know!” he growled across his shoulder  It echoed through the stave, and sounded a bit too reminiscent of Odin for Loki’s pleasure.  From the corner of his eye, he watched his brother throw himself into one of the pews and lie down.  Loki rolled his eyes and set his jaw and sighed so deeply that it likewise echoed. “I’m sorry. This is… This isn’t what I expected, or hoped, or…”

He bit down on the tip of his tongue as Thor’s head popped up, and turned back to the screen.

The magic of the portal was _shit_ , that was the problem.  It was like trying to construct a passable walkway through mud _out_ of mud.

“Would it help if you took a minute to clear your head?” asked Thor.

“I don’t want to waste time.  The portal will revert if I don’t keep pushing.”  Loki lifted his hands back to the screen. “I’m not sick, anymore.  I can do this.”

Not that Thor had mentioned that part.

“Conjure some water, at least,” he suggested.

But Loki’s hands were already glowing.  He was beginning to suspect that part of the problem was that being recovered meant his prowess was too strong for the tissue paper construction of the portal.  It short-circuited when he pressed even a hair too forcefully, throwing him back with every step forward. If he was making any progress, it was at the pace of a worm in the rain.

And, thrown back for what both seemed and very well may have been the hundredth time, Loki stabbed his fingers into his hair.  He wanted to pull out, digging his nails into his skull until it hurt, as though it might revive him, and growled in obscenities too fowl to repeat.

Thor’s hand on his shoulder nearly sent him out of his skin.  Loki hissed. How could someone so loud sneak up on him like that?

“Water,” said his brother.  “Now.”

Begrudgingly as ever, Loki clawed at the air.  A glass of water appeared in the center of his bent fingers, which he drank down, and then the glass disappeared.  “Don’t interrupt me again. Please.”

Thor shook his head.  “And they think I’m the stubborn one.”

Loki gestured to the screen.  “You don’t know what this is like.  It’s maddening. Any progress I make keeps getting erased.”

“Why can’t you build a new portal and forget the old one?”

Loki pressed his lips together.  Oh, how he wished it was so simple, or that he could dig through the ground to reach Cora.  “Think of the temple below as an egg yolk. Once you break the surface of the yolk, it runs everywhere.  A portal is like a needle through the surface. If you were to pull the needle out--”

“It can’t be mended quickly enough.”  Thor was actually a fast learner, under the right circumstances.  It had to be killing him that he was unable to help. Loki was not completely bereft of compassion for Thor’s position.

“But why not just plunge in with a second needle, without pulling out the first?”

“Because, unfortunately, it’s not really a needle, Thor.  It’s energy. The state of the spell protecting the temple can only take so much of it.”  Loki rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple. “And it’s not as simple as willing a portal into existence.  I can’t risk even a slight error.”

Thor looked sideways at the screen.  “What would happen if you did?”

“Do you recall the state of the cafe when you found us the other day?”

“When it exploded?”

Loki lifted his hands.

Thor shifted his weight from one side to the other.  “Is Cora in danger?”

“No,” Loki snapped, but his voice caught in his throat.  He shook his head. “I just have to pull her out. She’ll be fine.”

But only if he kept moving.

 

* * *

 

Cora continued to turn in a slow circle as she scanned the uninterrupted line of the horizon.  Her fingers were hard at work on the hem of her blouse, and threads had started to come loose from twisting it.  Inch by inch, she searched for some indication of anything in the distance, some point worth marching toward, but all the ground had to offer where small billows of red dust.

How could everything look exactly the same and yet be so different?  Cora did not think she could ever long for the comfort of the temple, but at least there she knew exactly what she needed to do, which was wait.  She supposed that was what she was still doing. Waiting.

The autonomy was disconcerting.  In the dream, it was the same every time: she walked the same route, she spotted Loki, she woke just as the wind began to roar; like all dreams, it played without her input.  There was no thinking involved. But now, she could seemingly do whatever she wanted, as if she was wide awake. She could begin walking in any direction she chose.  

Cora wished anything would happen to make her path clear.

Was it possible Loki was creating this?  What if this was an illusion, just as he had shown her Asgard?

No, Cora was certain he could not be behind this, though she could not explain why, except that she knew he would not be so cruel.

She looked back over her shoulder.

She blinked.  Was she, at last, seeing something, a real something and not her eyes playing tricks?  It was no more than a dot. Cora could not think of how she missed even a dot until now.  If it was Loki, as it always was, he ought to be running toward her, but the dot did not grow in size.  It did not move at all. But she was so relieved to have any heading whatsoever that she immediately took her first step.

Only, like an optical illusion, the world telescoped forward, and it was as though she had traveled several meters before her boot landed.  Cora drew a gasp. She froze and the world stopped moving. Dream logic. Why did everything insist on being so much like a Salvidor Dali painting?

Cora grit her teeth and took another step and the same thing happened.  The dot on the horizon lurched toward her in size and scope, as though she had covered far more ground than should have been possible, but whatever.  At least something was happening.

She took another step.  The spot stretched into the form of a person.  Cora started to jog.

The figure came into focus.  It _was_ Loki, with his green cape hanging from his shoulders and his black and gold Asgardian clothing, the same things he had shown her while he was still in the temple.  He was not wearing his recognizable helm, but she was certain her eyes did not deceive: she would know him anywhere, even by no more than his silhouette.

 

* * *

 

By now, there was a threatening pain in the center of Loki’s forehead.  His vision was blurred, his body slick with cold sweat, and he was nauseous to the core.  But he had made progress.

 _Real_ progress, at last ironing down the kinks in the portal, learning its tricks, dodging the traps that threw him back, at least more often than not.  It was still like bumping around in the dark, navigating a maze by touch alone, but the closer he came to the temple, the louder its mystical echo grew.

But progress was not his goal.   Loki’s only desire was success. The longer the task remained incomplete, the more it felt like failure, and so he could not rest.  Let his skull throb. He would free Cora. If he died trying, well, death had never been able to hold him down for very long.

Thor watched from the corner, seated on the floor.  His eyes were as wide as they were weary, and glassy, as though he was in a daze.  For a while, he seemed to watch Loki intently, but now it was more like he stared straight through him, hypnotized by the flash and crackle of magic on the screen.  The entire piece of wood was glowing.

Loki pressed farther and farther in, smoothing out ripples in the portal before they could recoil.  His hands shook under the increasing strain, but it did not detract from the deftness of his metaphysical touch.  His fingers were naught but conduits. Everything of importance was taking place in a world far beyond what could be seen.

He could _sense_ Cora, now: a tangible, living presence behind the veil of energy that separated them.  Any moment, the door on the other side would fly open, and he would cross to her. She would be so relieved to see him, and he her, and Loki thought he might even allow himself the pleasure of feeling like a hero just this one time.

Or perhaps she would run straight through the portal to the other side, to the safety of the stave, without giving him a second look.  Perhaps she blamed him for all of this.

Loki blamed himself enough for both of them.  He blamed himself viciously. He should have known better before ripping open the lock on the portal in the first instance.  He had knocked her inside, clumsily pulled her in along with him. It never should have happened.

The portal rumbled as he passed a delicate kink in the path.  Loki held a breath to steel himself and told the ratcheting pain in his head to shut up.  He untwisted the tangled magic, loosening the spell one knot at a time...

It was like a POP! inside his brain.  Loki felt thrown back with all the intensity of an electric current, and just as quickly, the pain in his skull melted away.  He hit the floor. It tilted from side to side like a boat on the water. Loki looked up and the eye of the dolphin stared him down mercilessly.

“No.  No!”

He jumped to his feet.  The room leveled off and his hands flashed.  Loki could feel the portal, but the gains he had made slipped away like sand, faster than he could collect them.  Within seconds, he had lost so much of his progress that he could no longer sense Cora. The barrier between them became thick as rock.

Loki balled his fists and screamed and, spinning around, he forced his fist through the wall of the church.  The wood snapped like a toy dollhouse. The rafters overhead shuddered.

Thor was beside him in an instant, pulling his hand from the wood, brushing aside splinters.  His own hands shook. “W-What was that? Is Cora all right?” He paused for a moment and swallowed.  “Are _you_ all right?”

Loki’s fist remained locked tight, as he contemplated blasting it through the wall a second time.  Any sense of horror over the damage he had done was taking its time creeping in. If he wanted anything of his rage, it was the ability to channel it into fixing the portal.  “I was almost there. Dammit! I made a mistake. I lost so much!”

“But not everything?”

“Enough,” hissed Loki.  He had lost sight of Cora.  What else mattered? A metaphysical inch was the same as a mile.  Loki reclaimed his hand and began to massage his knuckles, which were more tender than he expected, given the ease with which the wood snapped.  He was not bleeding, but his skin was already purple.

Thor’s heavy brow furrowed, folding and unfolding.  Loki watched him from the periphery of his vision, as he struggled to understand arts that were in many ways unknowable.  “How close were you?” he asked.

Loki shook his head.  “I was so close.”

So close to Cora.  So close to keeping his promise.  And so close to breaking it.

Thor stepped back.  He regarded the screen, folding his arms across his chest.  “Why do you keep failing?”

Reactively, Loki bristled.  Thor did not mean to insult him, he knew that, but Loki was weary to his soul.  What could his brother hope to understand? Metaphors about eggs could only convey so much.  It had to be maddening from Thor’s position, unable to fix anything, even by sheer force of will.

Then again, of the two of them, Thor had not been the one to put a hole into a church.

Loki sighed.  “I suppose that trouble is that it’s draining me a _bit_ faster than I can keep up…”

Thor circled the screen.  His eyes were narrow, but Loki could not begin to guess to what purpose.  It was not as though they had not already examined the piece of wood from every angle.

With a grunt, Thor came to a stop.  “So what you need is energy?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Loki lifted an eyebrow.  A grim chuckle rose from his raw throat.  “But it’s not like drinking a cup of coffee, Thor.”

“No, I mean…”  Thor laced his fingers together and, giving them a flex, his knuckles popped.  A few sparks flew and a pungent whiff of ozone filled the air. “ _Energy.”_

Loki lifted his other eyebrow.  “Are you... offering to electrocute me?”

“Do you think it will help?”

Loki tilted his head.  Had his brother gone mad?

“Do you know, it just might...”

 

* * *

 

 

Cora ran full-speed.  Billows of red dirt puffed up from the earth, clouding her vision, but she did not hold back.  In a matter of seconds, she had reached him, but Loki did not run toward her and as she skidded to a halt, Cora realized why.

It was Loki, but at the same time, it was not.  It was…

He _looked_ real, like flesh and blood, right down to the pores on his face.  There was even a hint of his sardonic smile tugging at his lips. But the figure was more like a mannequin, as if Loki was frozen, not just physically, but frozen it time itself.  She poked the side of his hand with her index finger. He even _felt_ like flesh and blood.

It was the eeriest facet of this new vision Cora had seen, and yet, he looked so much like a proud soldier, formidable and grand, that an undeniable sense of comfort kept her from shivering in fear.  She eyed the golden vambraces at his wrists and traced the opulent leather of his garb. So damn majestic, and even frozen in stillness he still seemed so unrepentantly proud of it. Cora bit her lip, chuckled, and shook her head at herself.

She circled his body, turning her gaze now and again to the horizon, keeping her distance in case Loki suddenly came to life and scared the living daylights out of her, or what remained of them.

More things began to happen.

Overhead, the sky was changing.  The pink had taken on a purplish hue.  Stars appeared like pinpricks of light, as if dusk was falling.  Coming back to Loki’s face, Cora stared into his eyes and dared them to move, too, whether it would frighten her or not, but he did not so much as blink.  As it was as if he was standing there solely to be observed, a statue on display, something that belonged in an art gallery.

Cora craned her neck toward the sky.  The purple color, she realized, was still deepening.  Darkening. And swiftly. She narrowed her eyes. In seconds, the sky had vanished completely

And she was left with _SPACE_.

It was so much like what Loki had shown her in the restaurant: the nebulas, the neon gaseous clouds, flying rocks that appeared to be on fire, planets looming like gods; only now all of it seemed to hang inches overhead, as though if she reached toward the heavens, she might actually touch them.

Her heart soared so high in her breast that Cora felt as though she was being carried into cosmos, but her feet remained planted on the ground.  She glanced at Loki, who still had not moved, but who seemed more vibrant than ever, as colors of light crowned him with hues that defied description.  He had shown her Asgard, but not even Asgard was as breathtaking as this. This was a much larger kingdom, a wild untamed wilderness of galaxies and interconnected dimensions.  The entire universe.

It was endlessly vast, as deadly as it was heart-stoppingly beautiful.  It was fire and ice, explosion and rebirth, and Cora felt completely stoned by the time she stumbled dizzily backward and came face-to-face with Loki once more.

Only everything about him had changed.  Cora nearly screamed as she met the flinty eyes and crooked snarl and flashing daggers of Loki poised to _strike_.

She raced away before it settled in that he was still locked in time and that she was safe, though what meaning did that word still hold?  The sights of the cosmos vanished as though it had been snatched away, replaced by a sky as gray as the polar night. The air smelled of frost and dead wood, of deep winter.  Loki held his knives high, his arms giving every suggestion of fluid movement even in stasis, as though he had been frozen half-way through his attack, and the knives themselves bore stains of blood.

The moment she laid her eyes upon the red-tipped blades, a sharp pain spasmed in the center of her chest.  Cora doubled over and pressed her hand against what felt like a very physical wound, but looking down, she saw nothing.  No sign of injury. Nothing at all.

She raised her eyes and her heart jumped into her throat.  Loki was moving.

His cape billowed as he turned.  He spotted her. He did not smile.  He began running at her with the ferocity of a wolf.  He did not drop the knives.

Cora thrust her hands in front of her face because there was no escape.  Her brain lurched in fear.  He would have her in seconds.  Would it hurt?  Would he do it quickly?  Why did the vision insist on toying with her so cruelly?

He took her by the wrists and pulled apart her makeshift shield and Cora saw again that Loki had changed.  The knives were gone, his vambraces were gone, along with the rest of his armored costume.  He stood before her, dressed exactly as he had through the morning, in the staples of human fashion, with his peacock scarf hanging over his neck. He was no longer the majestic soldier, but he was ever elegant.

But he was not at peace.  His exposed Adam’s apple rose and fell with ragged gulps of air, and Cora swallowed just as hard as her eyes traced upward, past the visible thump of his pulse at the corner of his jaw, past the drawn hollows of his cheeks, and the parted _Oh_ of his mouth.  His hands moved from her wrists to her hips, lingering there before meeting at the small of her back.  Cora arched at the sensation of touch so close to the sensitive base of her spine.  There was no mistaking what he intended to do, and for Cora, no arguing away her desire that he not waste another second in doing it.

She wrapped her fingers around his scarf and pulled his lips to hers.

It had been such a long time since she had last been moved to kiss -- and she had momentarily forgotten the unreality of everything unfolding -- that Cora felt briefly gripped with fear that she might have forgotten how it was done, but his lips warmed on contact and after that, there were no further concerns, there were hardly any thoughts at all.  There was only touch and closeness and wanting more and more of it, more of him.

Oh, Cora was in trouble, now, and she knew it.  There was no going back, even after the feigned reality of a dream.  The vision would eventually end, though hopefully not soon, and she would come face-to-face with the real Loki, and all she would want was this.  She wanted galaxies and magic, she wanted his universe, his endless kingdom.  It turned her face red to admit how deeply she wanted it, to admit how dead she had felt for ages.  He could not leave this world without her; no, she would not let him.  She wanted to be there every time his eyes grew wet at the sight of beauty, she wanted hear him laugh and tease her when she rambled, she wanted him even when he was acerbic and churlish, she wanted to hold him to her breast when he ached for the comfort.  She wanted him so deeply that she could hardly bear his being a separate body, even in the deepest embrace.  

Her back touched a wall which had not been there before.  Cora had not even been aware of stumbling backward, but as she tripped, her eyes opened and Loki was gone.  Her arms went cold, while her lips still burned. It felt as though something had been torn out of her, something which had never actually been hers.

The heat on her lips died.  After all, they had not been touched.  The kiss was no more than an invention of her own mind; some subconscious, silly part of her had crafted it to suit herself, here, where it was safe to do such things, where it was safe to press herself close to the God is Mischief.  A ridiculous fantasy.

Other walls moved into place.  Familiar walls. The scent of coffee and chocolate filled her up, and Cora knew where she was before the final piece fell into place.  It was her cafe, as intact as it was before the explosion. Cora turned to take all of it in as the residual dizziness from the kiss subsided.  The pastry case was full of cake. Whiffs of steam rose from the espresso machine, ready for use.

She smiled dumbly.  The cafe really was a cheerful place, a cozy corner of the universe she had carved out for herself.  Even knowing it was not real did not detract from the warmth of its familiarity. The cafe was just as much her home as her condominium, if not more so.  She certainly spent more of her waking hours here.

Cora walked behind the counter, where she found her actual Bowie doll and cushion and Rubik’s Cube, or her own more accurate reconstructions of them, along with her books and the other things she kept to pass the time.  She fingered the espresso machine and wondered if the coffee that came out of it would taste the same. Her eyes landed on the chair where Loki sat just before the explosion. She remembered bringing him a plate of cake, she remembered how sickly he had been.

She sat on her stool and… waited.  Maybe something would happen, as it had before.  Maybe Loki would walk through her door. Why else would the vision have brought her here, if someone was not meant to enter?

So she waited.  Occasionally, she walked to the door and glanced outside, but there was not another soul to be seen.

She tested the coffee.  It tasted the way coffee was supposed to taste.  For good measure, she tested the chocolate cake, as well.

She fiddled with her Rubik’s Cube, twisting the levels around and around without actually solving it.

She leafed through a book she had read a hundred times.

The sky beyond the small windows of the cafe grew dark.  The cosmos did not appear this time, aside from the faint threads of the Northern Lights in the distance.  Everything looked exactly the way it was meant to look, the way it always did from her position behind the counter.

Cora pinched herself, hard, but it changed nothing.  The door of the cafe was graced by neither Loki nor anyone else.

If anything was going to happen at all, it was taking far too long.  It seemed like hours had passed. She rose from the chair and walked to the door, pulling it open and looking up and down the street.  It was completely deserted. None of the lights in the shops were on, not even the restaurants.

Cora breathed deep.  Even the air smelled of salt.  What if none of this was a vision at all?  What if the last few days had been a dream and she had only just awoken in the cafe?  Maybe she had never met Loki, maybe she had never even met Thor.

The hairs on the back of her neck pricked.  “Am I finally losing my mind?” she murmured to herself, turning back inside.

A man was standing behind the counter, a man with eyes encircled with shadows and wet with tears, eyes she recognized immediately, though they did not belong to Loki or Thor, they did not belong to any man in Seine.  Cora barely stifled the scream that rose all the way from her gut.

He wore a brown Edwardian suit that was torn as though he had been attacked by an animal, and his hair just as was ragged.  Once, his red curls had been a gorgeous crown atop his head. Now, they were matted with blood. His skin was bruised and bleeding.

“I am sorry, C-Cora,” he said, choking on her name.  “I am so very sorry. Never in my wildest imagination did I think it would turn out the way that it did, neither for you... nor for Sophie.”

She lowered her trembling hands from her mouth, which stung from how severely she had clapped them there.  Her lips moved without sound, false-starting before her breath returned. “Alec?  How?  What are you doing here?”

With all the immediacy of sudden death, the walls of the cafe vanished and the walls of the temple corridor replaced them.  Alec, too, faded like the ghost that he was. The vision over. And for all its material tangibility, it was nothing compared to the weight on Cora’s shoulders as she fell to her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and a special thank you to my readers who have been with me since the beginning. I hope you have a moment to leave a comment. But more than anything I hope you have been enjoying this story. Please look me up on [Tumblr](https://mareebird.tumblr.com/). Let's be friends and talk Loki!


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